


Riding with Stiles ~ OR ~ Highway to Hale

by LadySlytherin



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst with a Happy Ending, Blow Jobs, Derek Hale & Laura Hale Are Twins, Derek Hale Has Issues, Derek Hale Needs To Use His Words, Derek Hale has anxiety, Derek Hale is Bad at Feelings, Emotional Roller Coaster, Everyone Is Alive, Face Slapping, Hale Family Feels, Hand Jobs, Hate Sex, M/M, Mild Pain Kink, Mild humiliation kink, Miscommunication, Misunderstandings, Mixed Signals, Nonverbal Consent, Public Foreplay, Semi-Public Sex, Smoker Derek Hale, Stiles Stilinski Needs to Use His Words, Verbal Abuse, alternate universe - monster trucks, situational vehicular accidents
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-17
Updated: 2020-04-17
Packaged: 2021-03-01 20:08:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 35,524
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23692918
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadySlytherin/pseuds/LadySlytherin
Summary: Derek Hale is a legacy driver. Born into the monster truck circuit, driving is in his blood; in his bones; in hissoul.All he's ever wanted was to drive his father's truck,HaleStorm.He can't imagine ever wanting anything more. Then, he meets Stiles Stilinski.Stiles is new to the monster truck circuit, and Derek wants him about as much as he hates him. It's a tangled mess and Derek doesn't know how to sort it all out. He's not sure he evenwantsto.It's up to Stiles to show Derek that some things are worth sacrificing everything for; even the one thing Derek had always thought was the most important.
Relationships: Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski
Comments: 52
Kudos: 245
Collections: Sterek to read during social distancing





	Riding with Stiles ~ OR ~ Highway to Hale

**Author's Note:**

> I want to make note of a couple of things in this fic.
> 
> 1) In regards to the _Nonverbal Consent_ tag: The first couple of times Derek and Stiles engage in physical intimacy, things escalate from anger into lust without any verbal indication of what's going to happen. Both parties are fully consenting, but verbal consent isn't given until much later.
> 
> 2) This fic was inspired ((loosely, let me be clear)) by something I witnessed at an actual monster truck event. A legacy driver at the event made some remarks about another driver, similar to Derek's remarks during Stiles' first monster truck event in this fic. I was amused by the contradictory statements the driver in question made and wondered if there was some enmity there, between him and the other driver. This fic was born from the idea of that, though I've obviously embellished some things.
> 
> 3) While I am mildly familiar with monster trucks - the Monster Jam circuit in particular - I am by no means an expert. I've attended a couple of events and I _did_ do a little research for some parts of this fic. But the world of monster trucks is complicated and ever-changing, so I elected to create a fictional circuit and populate it with TW characters as the drivers of equally fictional trucks, rather than trying to keep everything accurate to real-world monster trucks. As such, I apologize if anything seems weird or off from actual monster trucking.
> 
> As ever, comments are love so please leave me some down below. I hope you all enjoy the story. ❤️
> 
> ~ Sly

The first time Derek Hale sat behind the wheel of a monster truck, he was little more than a toddler. His father, Dominic - a tall, well-built man with a booming laugh, who seemed larger than life even to his own children - held Derek on his lap. He was not-quite five, and breathless with anticipation, and giddy with the thrill as Dominic encouraged him to wrap his tiny hands around the edges of the steering wheel; as his father gave him _control_ over the truck. Or, well...the _illusion_ of control, anyway. Dominic was a fun-loving man and the good lord knew he could be reckless with himself - and his truck - but he would _never_ endanger one of his children.

Derek’s sister, Laura - who was older than him by a mere three-and-a-half minutes - had already had a turn around the packed dirt floor of the arena where Dominic was practicing. Putting HaleStorm - the truck he’d driven since before the twins were born - through its paces, though at the moment he was simply driving in somewhat speedy circles. No jumps or stunts were allowed while either of the twins was in the truck - their mother, Talia, was adamant about that - but the twins didn’t care. They knew it would be allowed _one day._ Just as Derek knew, with absolute certainty, that one day he would be sitting in the driver’s seat all by himself. Monster trucks were in his blood; in his bones; in his very _soul._

And, really, it was unsurprising.

The first time Dominic had won the Monster Slam World Final Freestyle, he’d climbed out of an upside-down truck known as _StormRider_ \- which _may_ have been _slightly_ on fire - and, knowing the cameras were all on him, had shouted a proposal to Talia Hale, whose father owned the company - Hale Enterprises - that sponsored Dominic and his truck. Talia had screamed back a yes before darting onto the arena floor to accept the ring he’d pulled from his pocket. The fans had eaten it up.

Derek’s parents had just publicly announced Talia’s first pregnancy when his father had won the World Final Freestyle for the second time. This time, he won with the truck he’d created after marrying Talia and taking her name, which was so ingrained in the world of monster trucks he hadn't even considered doing anything else. The new truck had been named _HaleStorm_ and Dominic had flipped it during the finale - a bit of a signature for him - but it wasn’t on fire, at least. So he’d won, and crawled out of the truck, and Talia had run out onto the arena floor to kiss him soundly while the crowd screamed their excitement and happiness in the stands around them.

Talia refused to leave the circuit, following Dominic from city to city. She went into labor in the middle of an event, but refused to leave until Dominic was declared the winner, at which point she’d joined him on camera and panted out with a beatific smile. “Terribly sorry to steal my husband away, but it seems I’m in labor. I’m sure you’ll all excuse us.”

They’d received a police escort to the nearest hospital and Talia had spent more than two days in labor before presenting her husband with twins - one girl and one boy - in the early hours of Christmas morning.

Derek and Laura had spent their whole lives on the circuit with their parents. Talia had carried them onto the arena floor countless times before their first birthday. Laura took her first steps in the house their mother had inherited from her family when her parents retired to travel the world - in her sleepy hometown of Beacon Hills, California - but Derek had taken _his_ first steps on the packed dirt floor of a Monster Slam arena. His first word had been neither _mama_ nor _dada_ but rather _truck,_ said with forceful demand and an adorable baby lisp. Dominic had laughed and scooped his son up, bringing him to sit in the cab of HaleStorm for the first time in his young life.

There was never any doubt that Derek would one day drive the truck that his father had lovingly designed and driven for longer than Derek had been alive. There was no doubt that _all_ of the Hale children - Laura and Derek and, when she was born shortly after the twins turned six, Cora as well - would one day sit behind HaleStorm’s wheel. But it was Derek who was expected to take the mantle when Dominic was ready to step down. It was, after all, his legacy.

~*~*~*~

Derek learned to drive behind HaleStorm’s wheel.

Laura did, as well, but Derek was the one who took to it like a duck to water. Laura was good, but she was just as content driving their uncle’s truck - _Halestrom -_ as she was driving their father’s. Peter had had a good laugh the day he’d named his truck, shortly after Dominic had unveiled the newly created HaleStorm, because he’d known it would confuse the fans. And it _did,_ of course, but it had also created something of a media frenzy and publicity was _never_ a bad thing when one made their career as an entertainer. Peter enjoyed needling his sister and brother - especially on camera, with jibes about who was the better driver - but Dominic gave back as good as he got and it was clear there was a lot of love between the Hales, born and married alike. 

So a teenage Laura could be seen driving both trucks around the arena floors, while Derek was never behind the wheel of anything other than HaleStorm. He drove the monster truck in his first competition only a few days after he turned eighteen...

... _and he won._ Not merely a single event, either. He’d won _overall._

No one was surprised. No one was upset. Even the seasoned drivers he’d outshone had simply laughed at the cameras, drawling pointedly about how driving was in the boy’s blood, after all. Laura drove HaleStorm in competition the following year, though it wasn’t until her fourth time officially driving that she managed to win a single round at an event. It took another two times before she won an event as a whole, but that was fine. She was damn good and she enjoyed it. Just not as much as her brother, that was all.

When Derek turned twenty-one, Dominic presented him with a second HaleStorm. They had talked about getting another truck for years, since they had three drivers. Laura sometimes drove her father’s truck, and sometimes drove Derek’s. On a couple of occasions, she’d even driven Halestrom instead, like when Peter had given himself one hell of a concussion during an accident and had been unable to drive for two weeks.

The press when Derek and Laura had faced each other in the arena for the first time had been wild, the fans going crazy, and - for the first time in his life - Derek considered driving a truck _other than HaleStorm._ The idea was vague, though. Amorphous. A fleeting thought, there and gone in a blink. He was his father’s son, after all. HaleStorm was his _life._

And then Cora had learned to drive.

She was reckless, and wild, and vicious on the track. She wasn’t the best driver, but she had a gumption to her that let her perform tricks most drivers wouldn’t dream of. She’d drive HaleStorm into the ground during a finale or a freestyle, ripping the truck apart amidst impassioned screams from the fans who hungered for destruction more than anything else. It wasn’t often she placed first, except in fan-rated finales and freestyles where she’d been given free reign to destroy the truck if that was what it took to get the crowd revved up, and everyone knew the fans loved her.

So they had two trucks and four drivers, and Derek was spending less time behind the wheel than he ever had before. And, knowing he had to drive as much as possible - knowing he’d go crazy if he had to keep standing on the sidelines, wishing it was him behind the wheel - Derek made a choice.

At the start of the season the year he turned twenty-five, Derek Hale debuted a brand new truck, all his own. He’d designed the truck, and chosen the name, and signed all the paperwork to become an official driver under it. _Prince-of-Hale._

Derek knew that, when his dad was ready to retire, he’d decommission Prince-of-Hale and retake his place as a HaleStorm driver, but that day was far off, in the dim and distant future. He had _years_ before he had to worry about such a thing. In the meantime, he had a five year sponsorship contract. It was from his mother’s company, but that was expected. Hales sponsored Hales and that was simply how it was; they sponsored HaleStorm _and_ Halestrom, after all. It was only fitting that Derek’s truck be added to the list of Hale-teams. It didn’t even really feel like leaving; didn’t feel like betrayal or enmity to drive against Laura and Cora and their father anymore than it had ever felt like that to drive against _Peter._

This was just the next step. An in-between stopgap until Derek could take his rightful place as HaleStorm’s main driver, when the time came.

The family had talked about it, when Derek signed his five-year contract. When that time was up - when Derek was thirty - they would all sit down as a family before making any decisions. They would decide if Dominic was ready to retire, or at least cut back on driving. If he wasn’t, they would discuss if that day was even in sight, and Derek’s next contract-length would reflect when they felt they should be having that discussion again. It was all very well-planned and thought out.

Except that, when Derek was twenty-six - just one year into his contract as the sole driver for Prince-of-Hale - Dominic had a heart attack. A _mild_ one, but still. His health became the family’s primary concern, and it was a little touch-and-go with whether or not the doctors would let him back behind the wheel again. They did, in the end, but there were restrictions. _Limits._

Laura and Cora picked up the slack as best they could, now that Dominic could only drive a couple of times a month. Derek cursed his contract - and his own stubborn determination - that left him unable to drive any truck but his own, but everyone soldiered on for several months.

And then the whole damn world came crashing down around Derek’s head.

~*~*~*~

“You want to do _what?”_ Derek snarled, standing so abruptly that the chair he’d been seated on in his family’s kitchen went crashing to the floor behind him.

“It’s not a matter of want, Derek.” Cora shot him a cross look. “It’s too much for Laura and me. You know I’m trying to finish up my degree, and she’s married. Without dad as primary driver on one of the trucks, we’re both driving almost constantly. We can’t keep it up. We _need_ another driver.”

“A Hale drives HaleStorm.” Derek spat back, all but vibrating in his fury. “That’s just how it is.”

Talia tsked softly, drawing her son’s attention. “That’s how it _was._ And, of course, we wish it could remain that way. But our choices are limited. We can either back out of half our scheduled events and drop down to only one truck-”

Everyone protested loudly and Talia held up a hand for silence, adding. _“Or,_ we can hire another driver. I think it’s clear which option is the lesser of two evils at this juncture.” She gave Derek an apologetic smile, adding softly. “It’s only temporary, you know. Just while things are so strained. Cora needs to finish her degree, and _you_ need to finish your contract with Prince-of-Hale. When the time comes for you to return to driving HaleStorm, we’ll adjust accordingly. But this is what needs to happen. For now, anyway.”

To say Derek was unhappy would have been an obscene understatement. But he knew his mother was right. HaleStorm couldn't back out of contracted engagements without considerable backlash, and having to pay some hefty fines. And Derek couldn't break his contract as driver for Prince-of-Hale without raising cries of nepotism and _also_ paying hefty fines for backing out of events. They were, unfortunately, stuck. HaleStorm needed another driver.

~*~*~*~

Derek walked into the arena, surveying the packed dirt and the ramps and the stands with a practiced and critical eye even as he adjusted his gloves. It wasn’t quite his turn to do a practice run - Isaac was still putting Howling Destruction through its paces - but he liked to take a look at the track _before_ he was actually behind the wheel. A habit he’d picked up from his dad, no doubt. Allison Argent walked over, shaking out her long dark curls in a way that told Derek she’d just pulled her helmet off. He watched her approach, waiting for the moment she’d look up and actually notice him.

When she did, dimples blossomed in her cheeks. “Derek!” She was hugging him a moment later, and Derek’s arms went around her waist as he picked her up, making her laugh delightedly. “Put me down, you big jerk.”

Derek set her back on her feet, then tugged on one of Allison’s curls. “It’s good to see you again, Ali. How’s the truck?”

Allison - like Derek - was a legacy driver. She drove _Silver Huntress,_ which had once belonged to her aunt, Kate, before an unfortunate accident had ended the woman’s life. Her dad - Chris, who headed _Silver Entertainment,_ a company that owned more than a few trucks on the circuit and which _ran_ the Monster Slam circuit as a whole- had tried to prevent Allison from competing, but it hadn't worked. Derek understood that. For some of them, driving was too much a part of them to ever consider doing anything else. Allison was like that. So was Derek. He was older than her by six years - she was Cora’s age - but they’d grown up together, after all. Pretty much all of the legacy drivers were close, having spent their childhoods and teen years together, as much as the circuits allowed.

“Oh, well. Same as always. She’s all fixed up after last weekend, anyway.” Allison was referencing the spectacular double-roll she’d done after screwing up a trick, though it had still netted her a decent score in the round. She then pouted at him and added. “You know, I hate when I have to drive against _all three_ Hale teams in one event. It’s pretty much a given that no one else stands a chance.”

“You don’t know that.” Derek said, smirking as he added. “We could all have an off-day.”

Huffing, Allison rolled her eyes, but she was grinning widely. “Yeah, yeah. The day all of the Hales have an off-day at the same time is the day hell freezes over.” Derek shrugged and she snorted even as she smacked him on the arm in a way that was almost sisterly. “You’re an asshole, you know that?”

She raked her eyes over him as he shrugged dismissively - taking in the fire-suit he had on, and the gloves, but noting his lack of helmet - then said. “I’m guessing you’re up after Isaac?” He nodded, and she hummed. “Alright, well, come find me when you’re done and we’ll go grab some lunch, okay?”

“Sounds good.” Derek pulled her in close enough to kiss her dark hair, then muttered. “Not sushi, okay? I don’t care what you pick as long as it’s not that.”

“You’re no fun.” Allison stuck her tongue out as she backed away from him, heading towards the pit area, no doubt to check on her truck again. “See you later, Der-bear!”

Derek rolled his eyes at the nickname his sisters - and the other legacy drivers - still teasingly called him by, knowing he’d never get rid of it. There were some things from your childhood you just couldn't shake off, no matter how hard you tried. As he approached Prince-of-Hale, Derek accepted his helmet from one of the crew. He’d run through his usual pre-practice checklist, give the truck a quick once-over, and discuss any potential problems with his crew. Hopefully by then, Isaac would be done and Derek could do his own test run on the arena floor.

~*~*~*~

Derek climbed down from Prince-of-Hale and took off his helmet, taking an ice cold bottle of water from one of his crew with a grateful smile. He guzzled half the bottle in a few short seconds, already striding across the pit area, towards Allison’s truck. Before he’d made it far, a young man was approaching him, looking nervous but eager. Derek slowed his steps even as he twisted the cap back on the water bottle, taking in the man warily. True, nobody unaffiliated with the event - drivers, mechanics, crew, sponsors, and the like - should be present, but that didn’t mean much. There were _so many_ people involved in each event that it wasn’t like fans didn’t find ways in. Hell, half the crew members were fans long before they ever worked for a team.

“Can I help you with something?” Derek asked as they came abreast of each other.

“You’re Derek Hale.” The man breathed as he fell into step with Derek. Derek glanced over at him, and all but fell into a pair of wide, golden eyes. “I...god, I can’t believe I’m talking to you right now. I’ve been a fan of HaleStorm for _years._ Like, my whole life, practically. And I know you drive your own truck now, but like...still. You’re amazing. And like, way more gorgeous in person.”

“Thanks. You’re pretty damn cute yourself.” Derek said, smiling charmingly as he offered the compliment, which made the man blush. The blatant hope and longing on the man’s face had Derek feeling a pang of regret as he let his eyes track over the man.

He was long-limbed and slender, but the way his graphic tee clung under the open plaid overshirt said he was well-muscled rather than scrawny. His skin was milkmaid-fair but dotted with moles and beauty marks, and his face had a delicate beauty to it that most men couldn't pull off. Coupled with his wide, full, cherry-red lips and the devilish sparkle in those amber-and-gilt eyes, there was something almost wickedly tempting about the man. And Derek squashed that down hard, because he’d sworn years ago to never become involved with a fan. It just wasn’t worth the hassle. Though, depending on who the man worked for, Derek thought he might be willing to reconsider.

“I’m Stiles, by the way.” The man said, shooting Derek an enchanting smile that bordered on downright flirtatious. “Stiles Stilinski. I can’t tell you how exciting it is to be a part of the Hale team. This is seriously my dream job.”

And yeah, there went any last bit of hope Derek had harbored of starting things up with the man. _Stiles,_ apparently. No way in hell was he messing around with one of his family’s employees. “Right.” Derek shot another glance at the kid, wondering what the hell he’d been hired for. “Well, welcome to the team. I’m actually meeting up with someone for lunch, so if you’ll excuse me...”

“Oh.” Stiles blushed, seeming to deflate a little at the dismissal, but nodded. “Sure, yeah, of course. I mean, I need to go find Cora, anyway, to talk about how tonight’s going to run. I just...couldn't pass up the opportunity to say hi and introduce myself.” He shot Derek another tentative smile, adding. “It was nice to meet you.”

“Yeah, same.” Derek said, and he meant it even with the regret twisting his stomach into knots. Christ, he wished he could ask this guy out, but there was no way; not if he worked for them. Still, he mustered another smile and added. “I’m sure I’ll see you around.”

He left Stiles nodding like an eager bobblehead and continued on his mission to track down Allison. He was starving but, more than that, he desperately wanted to bitch to her about how unfair it was that he couldn't date Stiles. And maybe - _just maybe_ \- he’d let her talk him into doing it anyway.

~*~*~*~

It wasn’t until he was entering the Pit Party that Derek got his answer on what, exactly, Stiles had been hired by Hale Enterprises to do.

He was dressed in his fire-suit, carrying his helmet under one arm and heading towards the table set up at the end of a roped-off line that snaked its way around Prince-of-Hale, where fans would soon be lined up for autographs and photos. Derek walked past Halestrom and saw Peter leaning against one of the massive tires, looking bored as he waited for the Pit Party to begin. He waved at his uncle and Peter waved back, blue eyes suddenly sharp and attentive, though Derek wasn’t sure why. Pushing it out of his mind, because Peter had always been a bit strange, Derek kept walking. Prince-of-Hale was on the far side of the lot, because the coordinators had long since learned that spacing the Hales’ trucks out was an absolute necessity. If they were placed too closely together, fans tended to demand group-photos and there had been an incident or two with drunk fans getting rowdy when they refused.

Still, even as he walked towards his truck, Derek’s eyes sought out HaleStorm. He noted the setup of the roped-off line, mentally approving of the doubled-up section that would provide some extra length for the fan favorite, then let his eyes drift over to the table. He spotted Cora first, frowning when he realized her dark hair was pulled up into a ponytail; she always wore it down to drive, and for photo-ops. Then he realized she was wearing snug black jeans and a sky blue blouse, rather than her fire-suit. His eyes flicked to the people beside her, noting with surprise that his parents were flanking his little sister. Talia was dressed in black slacks, a brilliant red blouse, and a black blazer, looking every inch the President of Hale Enterprises. His dad looked...well, like his dad. Jeans and a team t-shirt, looking casual and relaxed and as happy as ever. Which meant _he_ wasn’t driving, either.

His eyes shifted again, locking on the tall white table that had a HaleStorm helmet and a pile of sharpies sitting on it. And there, leaning casually over the table with a wide grin and laughing, golden eyes was Stiles. Stiles,who was dressed in a HaleStorm fire-suit. Stiles, who had failed to mention that the _dream job_ he’d taken was _driving HaleStorm._ Stiles, who had flirted with him. And sure it was only barely, _but still_. Stiles, who was so beautiful he’d briefly made Derek consider throwing out all the rules he had about not dating fans...or Hale employees.

Stiles, who looked up and caught Derek watching him. His eyes widened, then his whole face lit up with a grin and he waved enthusiastically. Like he wasn’t wearing a fire-suit he had no fucking right to. Like he hadn't _lied_ to Derek - by omission, if nothing else - about his job. Like he wasn’t weaseling his way into _Derek’s_ rightful place behind HaleStorm’s wheel.

Derek saw red.

His fury must have been visible even with the distance between them, because Stiles’ smile faltered and his hand dropped to his side as he shot an uneasy look at Cora and said something Derek couldn't hear. It didn’t matter, anyway. Derek didn’t care what Stiles was saying. And he didn’t want to deal with his family just then, either. Besides, he had obligations. Turning away, Derek lengthened his stride until he was almost running and continued towards Prince-of-Hale. He forcibly pushed Stiles out of his mind, focusing instead on getting himself into the correct headspace for the meet-n-greet with the fans. He had photos to take and autographs to sign, and that left no time or energy to think about anything else.

 _Especially_ Stiles Stilinski.

~*~*~*~

Derek made it through the Pit Party without incident, though he had to grit his teeth a few times when an excited fan mentioned HaleStorm’s new driver. The worst moment was towards the end of the Pit Party, when the announcers came over to interview him briefly. Derek was used to that, of course. All of the drivers were, the legacies even moreso. Bobby Finstock and Kira Yukimura were an odd team, but they worked well together and Derek always enjoyed events where they were hosting. You could always count on Finstock to say the _wildest_ things, and Kira had a talent for balancing him out while still rolling with his crazy.

But Derek wasn’t ready for this interview. For Kira to hold a microphone to his face and ask earnestly. “So, Derek, tell us how it feels to be competing against HaleStorm _and_ Halestrom today. The fans know you love driving Prince-of-Hale, but there’s gotta be some tension any time you’re facing down one of your family.”

“I really don’t think of it that way.” Derek said, the rote answer he’d been giving since the first time he drove against Peter slipping off his tongue with an ease he was grateful for. “We’re all members of the larger Hale team, even if we sometimes drive different trucks. I’m not competing against them; I’m competing _with_ them.”

“And is it the same, now that it’s _not_ a family member behind the other wheel?” Finstock asked, raising an eyebrow at Derek. “How do you feel about this new driver, who fans are so excited to see make his debut tonight?”

Derek forced the smile to stay on his face, even though he suddenly wanted to _snarl._ “While I haven’t personally seen Stiles drive, I have complete faith in my family’s ability to choose our team’s drivers. I have no doubt HaleStorm will make a good showing tonight. As I said, we’re all a part of the same team and I know the fans are going to love everything we throw at them this season.”

“Well, there you have it, Monster Slam fans!” Kira said into her mic, which was piping the audio right to the speakers blasting throughout the Pit Party. “Straight from the mouth of Derek Hale, driver of the Prince-of-Hale truck. I know I speak for all of us when I say I can’t _wait_ to see how all three Hale team trucks - and their drivers, of course - perform tonight. And I think we can all agree that there’s a special interest in seeing HaleStorm’s newest driver, Stiles Stilinski, make his big debut.”

Derek kept his smile in place right up until the Pit Party ended, though it was so forced it was making his cheeks hurt. His jaw ached from clenching his teeth. His palms stung beneath the gloves he’d pulled on to drive Prince-of-Hale into its proper place on the arena floor, because he’d been clenching his hands so tightly into fists that his nails had dug crescent-shaped gouges into them. And now Derek was pacing around an out-of-the-way area, behind the scenes. His pit crew was nearby, the technicians and mechanics who kept Prince-of-Hale running even in the most dire circumstances all prepping for anything that might possibly break during any of the events, so they could fix any problems as fast as possible. Derek loved every single one of them, and was eternally grateful for their unending dedication to him and his truck. Normally, he spent this post-Pit Party, pre-event time period talking to them as they worked, thanking them and offering encouragement and praise.

Today, he wasn’t in the mood. Instead, he paced around the back of Prince-of-Hale’s trailer, wishing the event would just _start_ already, so he could _do something_ with all of this restless energy. His skin felt too-tight, like he was going to just...burst at the seams and explode out of himself. He was always a little hyped before a show - the adrenaline, he knew - but not like this. This was different, somehow. Derek felt almost _manic._

Footsteps sounded behind him and Derek whirled around, ready to send whomever it was away. Then he met golden eyes and felt fury wash over him once again, dragging all of his frenetic energy along for the ride; fueling the rage.

“Hey, Derek.” Stiles was talking even as he approached, though his eyes were wide and wondering as they looked at the travel trailer for Prince-of-Hale, rather than at Derek himself. “God, I can’t believe I’m really here. This is...this is _amazing._ It’s like a dream...”

“A nightmare, more like.” Derek snarled, before he could stop himself.

“W-what?” Stiles stammered, coming to a stop a few feet from Derek, looking at him now and seeming uneasy and uncertain.

Derek growled, then snapped. “What do you want, Stilinski?”

“Wh-uh...” Stiles took a nervous step back, then seemed to gather himself. He took a measured, steadying breath, raised his chin, met Derek’s eyes, and spoke. “I wanted to thank you. For what you said during your interview, at the Pit Party. It means a lot, knowing you trust me to drive HaleStorm.”

Derek narrowed his eyes, taking a threatening step closer to Stiles. “I don’t know you, Stilinski, and I don’t trust you as far as I can _spit._ But needs-must and all that.” He sneered, adding. “I said what I was expected to say, with a microphone in my face and an audience watching, but don’t think it means a fucking thing because it _doesn’t.”_

 _“Oh_ -kay.”

Stiles took another step back, which Derek countered by moving two forward so he was practically _looming_ over the other man, who was only an inch or so shorter but who also lacked Derek’s extremely muscular build.

He glanced behind himself, then back at Derek, confusion and wariness evident on his pretty face. “Did I do something to offend you? Or like, piss you off? Because I didn’t mean to. And I don’t want any sort of tension or issues between us. I meant it when I said this is my dream job.”

“If you didn’t want to piss me off, maybe you should have been honest about who you were and what, exactly, your new job was, the first time we met.” Derek said coolly.

“I assumed you knew.” Stiles said, a little bit of a bite edging his words. “I know you’re not a member of HaleStorm’s team anymore, but you _are_ still a Hale. I figured your family had told who they’d hired. So when I introduced myself, I thought my name would be enough.”

And that _smarted,_ dammit. It made something in Derek’s chest _ache._ Not because Stiles had assumed Derek’s family would fill him in, but because they _hadn't._ As often as he saw Cora, Laura, and Peter at events - and as frequently as he spoke to his parents - none of them had told him they were even seriously considering anyone for the driver position, let alone that they’d _chosen_ someone and set a debut-date. He had been shut out of the decision-making processes entirely. None of them had even had the courtesy to give him a heads-up before he’d found himself face-to-face with Stiles.

And yeah, that fucking _hurt._

Because it did - because the pain was bubbling up, sharp and bloody - Derek shoved Stiles up against the side of the travel-trailer. He leaned in until they were nose-to-nose, little more than their mingling breath left between them, and snarled. “Stay the _fuck_ away from me.”

As he drew back, he noted the flush of color on Stiles’ cheeks, and the way his eyes had gone dark, the pupils blown wide until they nearly swallowed the gold. He noticed that Stiles’ breathing was a little unsteady, and the way his hand seemed to shake as he raked it through his spiky brown hair. “Y-yeah, okay.” He mumbled, voice low and husky. “Stay away. Got it.”

Derek hesitated for a moment, because he knew desire when he saw it. Stiles wasn’t _afraid_ of him; the younger man _wanted_ him. The vindictive part of Derek wanted to exploit that; wanted to use that desire against Stiles. The _horny_ part of Derek wanted to indulge; to sink his teeth - and his cock - into the gorgeous man who seemed eager for him to do just that. But a sudden wariness where Stiles was concerned edged into his awareness, and that won out in the end.

Turning sharply on his heel, Derek stalked off. He’d wait in his damn truck for the event to start.

~*~*~*~

Derek shouldn’t have done it. He knew that, logically. Not the whole _threatening Stiles thing,_ though he probably shouldn’t have done _that,_ either. No, what he shouldn't have done was run his _fucking_ mouth, on camera of all things, before the freestyle finale. And sure, there was a history of that kind of needling between his dad and his uncle. And yeah, he and Laura and Cora had made some pointed jibes at each other, as siblings were wont to do. But this - this whole mess with Stiles - was _different,_ somehow. It was just that he was smarting a bit, because he’d gone head-to-head with Stiles in the racing final...and Stiles had _won._ Derek couldn't even blame it on the damn truck being better, because he’d beaten his sisters on more than one occasion. Stiles had just been _better._

Peter had taken the lead in the two-wheeled trick event, but Derek had been right behind him. Stiles had scored high as well, and Derek couldn't entirely discount it as a benefit of driving a fan-favorite truck in a fan-scored event. He _wanted_ to - it would have made it much easier to dismiss Stiles if the man had been even a little less amazing behind the wheel - but Derek knew the truth. Stiles was damn good. And _christ,_ but that chafed; rubbed Derek exactly the wrong fucking way.

He blamed his wounded pride for what he said in the pre-finale interview. 

“And can we expect the usual level of recklessness from you tonight?” Finstock asked, gesticulating in his usual, half-crazed manner. “Planning on wrecking the truck again?”

He knew he shouldn’t, but the words were tripping off Derek’s tongue before he’d fully thought them through. “I can promise the crowd a _true_ Hale finale tonight, that’s for sure. I grew up in the stands, and on the arena floor. I know what the fans like; what they’re here to see. And I’ll deliver, just like the Hales _always_ do.”

It wasn’t that he said anything against Stiles, of course, but the insult was there if someone was listening for it. It was a fairly unsubtle dig; an implication that Stiles wasn’t - and would _never_ be - a proper driver for HaleStorm, because _he_ _wasn’t a Hale._

And still, when he watched Stiles drive HaleStorm out onto the arena floor for his turn, he halfway expected Stiles to prove him wrong. The truck made a quick loop around the track, engine revving loudly, before Stiles threw it into a rapid spin that was more _cyclone_ than _donut._ The crowd was cheering, seeming to enjoy the speed-spin. Derek tracked the truck through it, then watched as Stiles backed it into position for a jump on one of the ramps. He watched Stiles spin the tires for a few seconds, knowing it was to create more bite for when he finally let the truck move forward. And, sure enough, when HaleStorm moved it was with pressing speed. It roared up the ramp, seeming to suspend in midair for a long, breathless moment before it came down with a jarring bounce.

Then, it _stopped._

Derek watched, waiting for whatever Stiles was going to do next. Except HaleStorm didn’t move. A moment later, Stiles’ head and torso popped out of the cab as he perched on the edge of the window, waving to the crowd, who seemed confused. The announcers were saying something - tallying how long HaleStorm had been performing, to see if Stiles’ score was admissible - and Derek couldn't help scoffing out loud. That had been a _pathetic_ showing. And why the hell had Stiles stopped early? HaleStorm looked _fine,_ as far as he could tell. The engine was still rumbling loudly, for fuck’s sake.

It wasn’t until the tow truck came out and lifted HaleStorm’s front end - Stiles standing a little to one side now, having exited the truck to talk to one of his crew - that Derek understood why the younger driver had stopped. One of Halestorm’s front wheels was dangling at a strange angle. Stiles had snapped the damn axel when he jumped. Derek scoffed again, rolling his eyes as he grabbed his helmet and got ready to climb into Prince-of-Hale’s cab. As he pulled the helmet on, he glanced back out at the field. Stiles was walking off now - his score having been deemed admissible - and he looked _right at Derek._ Knowing the helmet obscured his features, Derek didn’t flinch.

_Stiles did._

Derek rolled his eyes again and climbed inside his truck. He didn’t have time to worry about Stiles’ stupid mistakes, or wounded ego. He’d made a promise to the crowd, and he planned to deliver on it.

~*~*~*~

Derek crawled out of the upside-down Prince-of-Hale and raised both fists in the air. The crowd wasn’t just cheering; they were _roaring._ And christ, but Derek _lived_ for that sound. For the deafening, bone-rattling roar of an amped-up arena full of fans. He knew the massive screen above him was showing the camera zooming in on him, so he yanked his helmet off and smiled, flashing his dimples at the camera even as he waved with his free hand. His score took over the screen at last and the crowd’s cheering redoubled; he’d blown all the previous scores out of the water.

_**9.73** _

No way in _hell_ was anyone beating that. Not a goddamn _chance._ With a smug sense of satisfaction, Derek watched them flip Prince-of-Hale back onto its wheels, then put his helmet on to climb back inside, happy to drive it back to its place on the edge of the arena. When he got back out, Allison - who’d already had her turn as well - ran over and hugged him.

She pressed a smacking kiss to his cheek. “God, you lucky sonuvabitch.” She sniffled a little, hugging him tightly again. “Do you know what it does to my heart when you flip like that?”

Derek laughed, but not meanly. “Like you don’t flip Huntress just as often as I flip Prince.”

“Not even _half_ as often, and you know it.” Allison retorted a little primly as she finally let him go. Her eyes moved to half-watch a driver named Ennis Wade - who Derek only knew in passing - tear up the arena with his truck, Rage Monster. “And I know, logically, that you’ll be fine. That you know what you’re doing when you flip like that and could probably stop it at least most of the time, if you wanted to, but when you’re at the end of a freestyle - finale or otherwise - you’d rather let it flip and get the crowd going. I _know that,_ but I still worry.”

Derek sighed, but nodded. “I know, Ali. And I get it. If you think my heart doesn’t lodge in my throat every time one of you guys does something crazy...”

“You mean like when Red Queen was _on_ _fire_ and Reyes took her sweet ass time getting out?” Allison asked dryly, making Derek wince at the memory. It had been during the previous year’s summer circuit, and Derek had wanted to choke Erica for being so blase about the whole thing.

“It’s part of the gig.” Derek murmured at last, watching the screen as Ennis’ score was shown. “We know what we’re doing, and we accept the risks, but we can’t help worrying every time someone else is the one behind the wheel.”

“You know you’ve won overall, right?” Allison asked, clearly wanting to change the subject. “Not that I’m surprised, mind you. But you placed second in racing, second in two-wheeled tricks, and first in the damn freestyle finale. Nobody else can touch you for points.”

Derek shrugged one shoulder. “There’s two more shows in this arena. Odds are it’ll go another way the next two nights. You know part of it’s luck, and part of it’s the crowd at any given show.”

“Yeah, well. It’s too bad we’re not doing a Triple Threat circuit right now.” Allison laughed, leaning against him and not caring if the crowd - or the cameras - noticed. “You know I always kick your ass in the ATV race.”

“And the speedster one.” Derek admitted, not bothered by it in the slightest. He let his arm settle around her waist, taking some of her weight. “You weigh less. I’m sure that has something to do with it.”

“Keep telling yourself that, Hale.” Allison’s voice was soft and amused as her head rested on his chest. “I’m just better than you and you know it.”

Derek pressed a kiss to her dark hair, murmuring. “Yeah, probably.”

She laughed again and Derek grinned against the dark curls. After a moment, she asked. “So, celebratory dinner?”

“No, probably not.” Derek said, a little regretfully. “Mom and Dad are around, obviously, as well as Peter and Cora. So I’m betting on a family dinner.”

“Mmmm...fair enough.” Allison straightened away as the announcers ran through the scores, knowing they’d be declaring Derek the winner in a moment. “Tomorrow night?”

“Sure. High scorer pays?”

Allison tossed a grin over her shoulder as she walked back towards her truck. “You know I never say no to free food.”

Derek accepted his Freestyle win with grace, thanking the crowd for their scores and reassuring them that it was _all for them,_ as always. Then, he accepted his overall event win, citing the same sort of speech that was always expected. He thanked his crew, and his family, especially his dad for instilling a love of all things monster truck in him. He thanked the fans. He smiled, and waved, and joked a little with Finstock and Kira. All fairly standard; all nice and normal and expected. Derek understood the circuit, and what was expected of him during a show. This was his happy place.

~*~*~*~

“I don’t think I damaged anything major.” Derek assured the head of his crew after he’d changed into jeans and a henley. Boyd also happened to be one of Derek’s best friends. “Not even with the flip. Mostly it’s cosmetic damage.”

“I’ll check it all anyway.” Boyd said with a shrug. “But I don’t foresee any issues with Prince being ready for tomorrow’s show.”

“Great.” Derek clapped Boyd on the shoulder, then said. “I’m gonna go track down Cora and my parents, since I imagine they’re expecting us to go out to dinner together.”

Boyd nodded, already focused on the checklist on the tablet in his hands. “Have fun. Tell Dom and Talia I said hi.”

Derek’s good mood soured the instant he reached HaleStorm’s assigned area. His parents and Cora were gathered together, as expected, though Peter hadn't shown up yet. But Stiles was there, too, looking flushed and pleased as Talia fussed with his hair.

“There.” Talia decreed, stepping back to survey the new driver. Like Derek, Stiles was no longer in his fire-suit, instead wearing jeans and a graphic tee, a plaid overshirt on top; he looked much the way they had when he’d first introduced himself to Derek earlier in the day.

Talia beamed at Stiles and added. “The helmet does a number on your hair, that’s for sure, but it looks better now.”

“Thanks.” Stiles said, still grinning widely. “I still can’t believe I won _anything_ during my first Monster Slam show. This is all crazy surreal.”

“Save the act for the cameras.” Derek sneered before he could stop himself.

“Derek...” Talia warned, shooting him a cross look of the _mom-_ variety.

Cora snorted, rolling her eyes. “Seriously, bro? Play nice. Stiles is here to _help us,_ remember? We had a whole big family meeting about it and everything.”

Derek ground his teeth together, then bit out. “Yeah, I remember. What I _don’t_ remember is anyone telling me they’d so much as shortlisted anyone for the position, let alone _hired_ somebody.”

Dominic gave his middle child a cool look. “I don’t recall needing your permission to assign a driver to _my_ truck, son.”

Derek flinched and looked away, so Dominic added in a gentler tone. “Things with Stiles fell into place rather quickly. Your mother and I saw him perform in a local mud run back home just last week and I knew right away he had the sort of style and skill needed for this. Couldn't have been more pleased when he agreed to drive for us straight away.”

“Right.” Derek said, gaze still averted. He didn’t like being chastised like a child; especially not in front of _Stiles._ Taking a steadying breath, Derek forced a smile onto his face as he said. “I assume we’re doing dinner together?”

“Of course.” Talia agreed. “Your father and I already called ahead to get a table, since we’re such a large party and all the nearest places are bound to be busy thanks to the show. I assume you’re on board with Texas Roadhouse?”

“The day I turn down steak, bury me since it means I’m dead.” Derek said dryly, relaxing a little more when his mom smiled fondly at him. “I’ll grab my jacket and keys and head out. Is it the only one in the area, or am I gonna need an actual address to find the place?”

Cora laughed softly. “It’s the only one.” Her sharp brown eyes studied him for a long moment before she said. “We didn’t bother with a car, since we’re only here for the night. I’m gonna ride with Peter. You want to take Mom and Dad with you?”

“I can’t.” Derek said, apologetic as he glanced at his parents. “I was in the mood to ride, so I’ve got my bike rather than a car. If I’d known you’d all be here...”

“It’s fine.” Talia said, smiling easily. “Stiles, you have your jeep with you, don’t you?”

“Sure do.” Stiles agreed, those whiskey eyes of his hitting Derek like a suckerpunch as they locked with his own. “You’re both more than welcome to ride with me.”

“Fantastic.” Talia enthused, clapping her hands together as though that settled the whole thing rather nicely in her mind. “Cora, you go track down Peter and hurry him along. Derek, we’ll see you at the restaurant.”

Derek wanted to _snarl_ at the implication inherent in this setup. That _Stiles_ was coming to dinner with them. To the _family dinner._ But he could see the steel in his mother’s eyes and he knew better than to argue, or voice his displeasure. Talia ruled her family with love, but her word was law and she brooked no disrespect; she entertained no challenges to her authority. Fuming - but silently - Derek turned on his heel and stalked off.

~*~*~*~

Stiles watched Derek Hale walk away, knowing the man was _furious._ And Stiles understood it, sort of, because Cora and Laura had done their best to explain it to him. About how Derek had always planned to take over driving HaleStorm when their dad retired, but Dominic’s unexpected health issues had forced things into play early. How Derek was trapped by the contract with _his_ truck, and how he desperately wished he could take the burden off his sisters personally. But he couldn't, and that was where Stiles had come in. If he’d been expecting Derek to be grateful for that, he would have been in for a nasty shock. As it was, Stiles had expected some tension.

He _hadn't_ expected the outright hostility, but that was fine. Stiles was good at adapting; at rolling with the punches, as it were. He could handle Derek taking shots at him in private. What he _wasn’t_ okay with was Derek undermining his place as HaleStorm’s driver _in public._ And if the older man thought Stiles was just going to let his snide little remark before the freestyle round go, then _he_ was the one who was in for a surprise. Because fuck that.

Forcing a smile onto his lips, Stiles turned to the eldest Hales. “If you don’t mind waiting for a few minutes, I want to talk to Derek before we head out. Clear the air and all that.”

Talia smiled at him again, a motherly look full of fondness and warmth. “Of course. That’s very sweet of you, Stiles. Derek can be a little prickly - a little temperamental - but he’s got a good heart. I’m sure once he sees you’re making an effort, he’ll calm down.”

“I’m sure you’re right.” Stiles agreed, though he really wasn’t sure of any such thing. He honestly didn’t even care if Derek hated him, provided the man didn’t parade that fact around in front of the cameras and fans. “Excuse me, then. This shouldn’t take more than a few minutes.”

Stiles skirted his way around the various crews and drivers and trucks, wending his way towards where he knew Prince-of-Hale’s trailer was parked. He moved quickly, not wanting Derek to leave before he had a chance to speak to him. _Privately,_ this time. Thankfully, when he reached the correct area, he was told Derek was still around. A minute later, he found the older man leaning against the far side of the trailer, out of sight of his crew and anyone else who might happen by. The reason for that was made obvious as Derek took a deep drag off a cigarette before blowing a stream of smoke into the cool night air. Stiles hadn't known the other driver smoked, which was a bit surprising given how often the cameras were on Derek and how closely Stiles had followed the monster truck circuit for years.

Stiles cleared his throat when he was only a few feet away, and Derek looked up, casual disinterest melting into anger between one heartbeat and the next. “The _fuck_ do _you_ want?”

“To talk about your shitty attitude.” Stiles snapped back, because _hell no._ He might not give a shit if Derek hated him, but he wasn’t about to let _anybody_ talk to him like that. “You hate me? Cool, whatever. At this rate, I can assure you the feeling’s going to be mutual before much longer. I don’t give a shit if you don’t like me. You don’t _need_ to like me.”

“Thanks for clarifying my right to have feelings.” Derek sneered, flicking the still-burning cigarette butt to the ground as he straightened away from the trailer. “Now do me a favor and go the fuck away.”

“You don’t need to like me.” Stiles reiterated, refusing to back down - or back _up_ \- when Derek stalked closer to him, scowling fiercely. He raised his chin stubbornly and continued. “But you damn sure better act like you do in front of the cameras and fans. There’s no fucking reason to make things harder on your sisters or your parents by stirring up gossip about a rivalry between us. So hate me all you want, Hale, but keep it the fuck together when we’re in public.”

Derek shoved Stiles, the slimmer man staggering backwards until his back fetched up against the side of the travel-trailer. He gasped even as Derek slammed both palms hard against the trailer - one on either side of Stiles’ head - and leaned in. “I don’t have to do a fucking _thing.”_

“No. No, I guess you don’t.” Stiles agreed, bristling at the rough treatment he was receiving. “What the hell do you care if Laura’s so close to breaking down she’s talking about _quitting driving._ Or that Cora spends half her time on the circuit running on energy drinks and coffee and anything else with caffeine, trying desperately to find enough hours in the day to complete her coursework _and_ hold up her end of the driving. After all, it’s not like any of that is _your_ problem, right? You’re only the one who fucking bailed on them in the first place.”

Derek lifted his hands away only to slam them back down, the metal rattling loudly at the force even as Derek _snarled._ “I did _not_ abandon them! The decision for me to have my own truck was a _family decision_ that we made _together._ This is _not my fault,_ dammit!”

“Well it’s not _my_ fault, either.” Stiles pointed out sharply. “So how about you do everyone a fucking favor and stop blaming _both_ of us. Like I said, you don’t need to be happy about things. And you don’t have to fucking like me. But making snide implications about how I’m not a real member of the HaleStorm team is childish, and it’s fucking _petty,_ and I’m not going to sit back and take it.”

“Fuck you, Stilinski.” Derek rasped, his captivating grey-green eyes narrowed as he bared his teeth around the heated words.

“Not even if you fucking _begged me.”_ Stiles retorted, because if there was one thing he was good at - other than driving, of course - it was making smartass retorts. 

The words had barely passed Stiles’ lips when Derek kissed him. To say Stiles was surprised would have been an understatement. But he really was good at adapting, and this was no exception. Because jesus _fuck,_ could Derek Hale kiss. The kiss went from firm, close-mouthed pressure to open-mouthed with tongue in an instant; a hot-wet press and deep slide that sent Stiles’ system careening into overdrive. He moaned around Derek’s tobacco-and-menthol flavored tongue, winding his arms around the other man’s shoulders and arching his body into that strong, well-muscled frame. The kiss broke and the feel of one of Derek’s hands sliding into Stiles’ hair and yanking his head to the side so he could bite at Stiles’ throat had him keening, nails biting into Derek’s back through his shirt.

Derek groaned around the skin he’d sucked into his mouth, and Stiles could already tell he was going to have bruises but he didn’t give a single fuck. Then Derek’s other hand was between them, tugging sharply at the fly of Stiles’ jeans, and _shit._ Fucking _fuck,_ that was Derek Hale’s hand, sliding beneath well-worn denim and the elastic waistband of his cotton boxer-briefs to curl around Stiles’ cock. He’d been half-hard from the frantic necking, but the feel of that hand closing around his arousal had blood flowing south so fast it was dizzying.

Stiles swore softly, his head slamming back into the trailer with a noisy thud even as his hips hitched forward, greedily pressing his now-leaking cock into Derek’s touch. Derek growled against his throat, mouth still sucking bruises up and down that slim length and hand moving fast and rough, palming the head every few upstrokes and making Stiles see fucking _stars._ As his climax washed over him, Stiles bit his own lip, desperately trying to stifle the scream that had built up in his throat. And he might have been embarrassed by how quickly he found himself spilling, hot and sticky-wet, all over Derek’s hand and the inside of his own fucking clothes, except his brain was still trying to catch up to things and there wasn’t any room for embarrassment.

And then Derek was licking his own hand clean, making Stiles whimper as his over-sensitive cock twitched almost painfully at the sight. Once he’d cleaned Stiles’ release off himself, Derek threaded both hands through Stiles’ hair and said huskily. “My turn.”

And yeah; yeah, okay. _Hell_ yes, in fact.

Stiles kissed Derek again, shivering at the bitter-salt taste of himself on the other man’s tongue even as he spun them around until it was Derek’s back pressed against the trailer. A moment later, Stiles was on his knees, fingers already working on opening Derek’s jeans. He tugged them - and Derek’s briefs - down around the man’s muscular thighs. An instant later, he had his mouth wrapped around Derek’s cock, swallowing him down as deep as he could.

And, really, that was basically to the root, because Stiles hadn't had a gag-reflex since he was in middle school and Derek was thick but not _overly_ so. And _christ_ but he loved the way Derek groaned, deep and hoarse like it was rumbling up from his chest. He also loved the way Derek’s hands fisted in his hair, and the way his hips stuttered forward in a half-aborted thrust. He hummed happily even as he dragged his tongue along the underside of Derek’s cock, the hands he’d curled around Derek’s hips sliding back to cup that firm, gorgeous ass instead. He squeezed those lush curves even as he hollowed his cheeks around the man’s cock, encouraging him to thrust.

Derek didn’t need any more prompting than that. He immediately began fucking into Stiles’ mouth, and Stiles focused on swallowing around him, his tongue working the heated flesh all the while. The gasps and groans, and the hands tugging at his hair, were just glorious reaffirmations of what Stiles already knew; he was _really_ fucking good at this. And when Derek spilled down his throat only a few moments later, Stiles was already hard again.

Hard, and aching, and desperately hoping for a round two. Maybe not right this second, as they did have a dinner to get to, but _soon._ Fucking hell, he wanted this again. Wanted _Derek,_ even if the man was an asshole. He was a _gorgeous_ asshole, after all. And the passion between them held the promise of absolutely mind-blowing sex, if they could manage to get fully horizontal the next time.

With one last teasing lick to the head, Stiles drew back. He tucked Derek back into his clothes before standing, then went to do up his own pants. He grimaced a little as he realized he was going to have to make a quick stop in the bathroom to clean up a little before heading back to the two Hales who were waiting for him. Hell, he’d probably have to sit through the entire dinner commando under his jeans, because Stiles really didn’t think there was any saving the sticky-wet underwear that were clinging miserably to his junk right then. As he looked at Derek’s beautiful face, which was flushed and relaxed and kind of blissed out, Stiles decided he didn’t even care. That had _totally_ been worth it.

Licking his lips, Stiles asked. “See you at the restaurant?”

Derek opened one eye, face rearranging into annoyance as he muttered. “If I have to.” He paused, then added nastily. “Might want to avoid speaking, unless you want everyone to figure out you just got your throat fucked.”

Stiles blinked, a little shocked at the immediate return to hostility, but his quick wit had never failed him before and it wasn’t about to start now. “I’m not ashamed of my sexuality, or of the fact that I actually _have sex._ Closets are for clothes, not people. I won’t live in one. Not for anybody.”

Derek had straightened up, glowering fiercely now. “If I find out you’ve breathed _one fucking word_ about me or my sexuality or _this-”_ He gestured between them, clearly referencing what had just happened. “-to a reporter, or my family, or fucking _anyone,_ I swear to god, you’ll regret it.”

“I would _never_ out someone.” Stiles snapped, his own temper rising now. “And the fact that you’d even think that says a lot about _you._ You can keep your fucking secrets, and your vague threats.” He sneered, adding coolly. “And while you’re at it, keep your goddamn hands to yourself.”

Then Stiles turned on his heel and walked away, hating himself a little for the hope that Derek would call out for him to stop, or grab him to keep him from leaving, or come after him, or _something._ Hating _Derek_ \- just a bit - for the fact that he did none of those things.

 _‘Whatever.’_ He told himself, eyes scanning for the nearest bathroom as he walked. _‘It’s over and done with and it clearly didn’t mean anything. Better not to dwell on it.’_

Some things were easier said than done.

~*~*~*~

Derek got through the interminable dinner with his family, though he honestly wasn’t sure how. He mostly glowered at his food, and remembered the way Stiles had responded to him. Remembered how anger had turned to lust, one type of heat melting into another in the space between heartbeats. He turned his baked potato to mash while contemplating the taste of Stiles’ mouth, and the way it had opened so readily to his demanding tongue. He tore a roll to shreds, never touching the cinnamon butter he was normally so fond of, and thought of the way Stiles had arched and writhed against him when Derek had set his mouth to the pale, slim column of his throat. He managed only a few small bites of his steak as his mind wandered to the way Stiles had keened and panted when Derek had curled his hand around Stiles’ cock, and the gorgeous look on the younger man’s face when Derek had brought him to orgasm. Derek chased his peas around his plate, unknowingly licking his lips as he pondered the moreish taste of Stiles’ seed - salt and bitterness and a sharp tang that was somehow appealing anyway - when he’d licked it from his own hand.

Derek didn’t notice the way his family was surreptitiously watching him, too focused on his own inward musings. It wasn’t that Derek cared if anyone knew he liked men. And he liked women too, well enough at least, though he had something of a preference for men most of the time. Hell, his siblings were fully aware of his leanings. He was fairly sure his parents knew, too, though they’d never actually talked about it. It was just that Derek had never tried particularly hard to _hide it,_ either. Peter _definitely_ knew, as he’d caught Derek sucking off one of the other legacy drivers back when they’d both been teenagers, but Peter had merely cautioned Derek against getting involved with someone he was going to see _all the time,_ for the foreseeable future, unless he was sure it would last. Or, alternately, if everyone involved was utterly detached. It was advice Derek had taken to heart and he’d been _so careful_ to never become romantically or sexually involved with other drivers, or crew members, or sponsors.

And he knew it worked out, sometimes. His own parents had been driver-and-sponsor (or the daughter of a sponsor, at least) before they’d ever been anything else. And he was pretty sure that Banshee’s driver, Lydia Martin, was only a quick step away from being engaged to one of the Twin-Terror drivers, Aiden Steiner. But the circuit was Derek’s home, in a way his mother’s house never had been, and the idea of doing anything to ruin that was horrifying, and simply _not_ worth the risk. So Derek was careful. Or, he had been anyway, before tonight.

As their waitress took his plate - offering to box the largely uneaten meal, which Derek accepted with a nod - he glanced over at Stiles. Took in that beautiful face, and the awkward grace with which Stiles gestured while talking. Remembered the feel of those full lips and that clever tongue as they wrapped around his cock and tortured him to sweet release. Flicked his eyes to where Stiles had a scarf wound around his slim throat, covering the marks only _Derek_ knew were there. Stiles looked up and caught Derek staring, his golden eyes sparking fire even as the pupils expanded and his high cheekbones flushed with rosy color that Derek suspected came more from arousal than embarrassment or anger. He watched Stiles swallow hard; tracked a pink tongue as it darted out to moisten cherry-red lips.

And Derek knew, with frightening certainty, that there was no way in hell he’d be able to stay away from Stiles. There was something almost _hypnotic_ about him; about the way he moved and the general look of him and his utterly captivating personality.

So Derek knew he wouldn’t be able to resist, and that was fine. He didn’t even plan to try. But that didn’t mean he had to like it... _or_ Stiles.

~*~*~*~

Stiles finished his second Freestyle a _lot_ better than he had the first. He wasn’t the top scorer - that honor once again went to Derek, who’d flipped Prince-of-Hale _again_ \- but he was a hell of a lot closer, in terms of points. Allison Argent’s truck, Silver Huntress, had taken Racing, though Stiles had squared off with her in the final round and been right behind her. Peter and Halestrom had taken the Two-Wheeled Tricks event again, but Stiles wasn’t surprised. The older Hale was known for his ability to do all sorts of wicked tricks, after all. And Peter’s Freestyle score was second only to Derek’s, which wound up putting Peter in the top spot overall.

Peter had accepted his win graciously, purring out his thanks to the fans in a way that, when combined with the heated look in his piercing blue eyes, made Stiles _shiver._ He imagined Peter was very rarely alone in his bed, particularly after a win. Stiles knew the man was married and had two children - one a teenager, the other just starting college - but he’d followed the circuit for long enough to know that Peter and his wife - Amelia - had something of an _understanding._ So long as Peter came home to _her,_ Amelia seemed content to watch her husband rack up his many conquests with quiet amusement and a certain level of fondness. Stiles didn’t really understand it, but he respected the honesty and trust inherent in their relationship a great deal.

Stiles sighed as he tugged open the top of his fire-suit, loosening the neck and giving himself a little breathing room. He set his helmet down on a table as he passed through his crew’s pit area, tossing his gloves down as well. He’d gotten waylaid before he could leave the arena, for an interview with a little more depth since he was so new to Monster Slam and there hadn't been an introductory press release about him yet. And it wasn’t that he minded being interviewed, it was just that he was tired and eager to get out of the hot-as-balls fire-suit. So he grabbed his clothes and headed for the small room that had been cordoned off for the male drivers to get changed. It would probably be dead empty, as he imagined the other drivers were all as eager to get out of their damn suits as he was. Stiles knew it was for safety, but the damn things really were hellishly unbearable, given the fabric didn’t really breathe at all.

He kicked the door shut behind himself, locking it only because he didn’t want one of the cleaning crew to walk in on him when he was half-dressed. Before he could do more than tug the zipper on his fire-suit down a couple more inches, Stiles found himself pinned against the door, his lips caught in a heated kiss that had him half-hard in a few short seconds. Startled, Stiles broke the kiss, gaping in stunned disbelief at Derek Hale’s gorgeous face. And damned if that didn’t send him from halfway to fully hard in another couple of heartbeats.

Derek caught his lips in another kiss, and Stiles decided he didn’t want to resist. He moaned, and sucked on Derek’s tongue, and plastered himself against Derek as closely as he could. The adrenaline from the show was still coursing through him, his blood racing hot and fast, and this was just what he needed. This was fucking _perfect._

When Derek drew back, Stiles caught Derek’s lower lip with his teeth, tugging lightly. Derek growled and then that snarling mouth was at his throat as Derek’s rough hands tugged the zipper on his fire-suit lower before shoving it off his shoulders, letting it fall around Stiles’ waist. Seconds later, Derek drew back for just long enough to yank Stiles’ Nomex undershirt up and off, baring pale, mole-dotted skin. Stiles twisted his arms free of the sleeves, then pushed his own hands under the hem of Derek’s henley, as eager to touch skin as Derek seemed to be. He groaned when his fingertips traced along the well-defined abs and obliques, hot skin pulled taut over rippling muscles.

Derek’s mouth went back to torturing skin that was already bruised and sore, and Stiles let out a pained little hiss from between his teeth at the feel of it but he didn’t protest. Because it hurt, yes, but in the most delicious way, the feeling going straight to his aching cock. And then Derek was kissing down his torso, teasing Stiles with lips and teeth and tongue, his hands shoving Stiles’ fire-suit further down and out of his way as he went. As his tongue darted into Stiles’ navel, Derek’s hands also tugged down the Nomex underwear Stiles had on. He let out another hissing breath as Derek’s stubbled cheek nuzzled his cock, but even that faint, stinging rasp felt amazing.

And then Derek’s mouth was on him, hot and wet and fucking _perfect._

Stiles’ eyes all but rolled back in his head as he let the door take some of his weight and fisted his hands in Derek’s thick, dark, Disney-prince hair. Derek chuckled around him, one hand suddenly cupping his balls, rolling them in his palm. And Stiles was panting now, harsh and unsteady, as he brought one hand up to his mouth so he could bite down on his knuckles. It was that or risk having the desperate, needy sounds gathering in his throat actually spill past his lips, and the last thing Stiles wanted was for any _suspicious noises_ to inspire someone to investigate.

Stiles couldn't do anything about the slick, obscene sounds Derek’s mouth was making, though, and _jesus,_ that was fucking hot. There was something so goddamn _carnal_ about it; something inherently sinful and wicked when a blowjob was fast and careless and messy. Derek’s chin was wet, saliva dripping down it, and Stiles’ fucking balls were wet, too, and maybe it should have been gross but it _wasn’t._ It was fucking _filthy,_ and combined with Derek’s nails scraping lightly over his balls, it was all Stiles needed to push him over the edge. Stiles locked eyes with Derek as he groaned around his muffling hand and spilled down Derek’s throat.

When Derek drew back, Stiles blinked at him through a languid, hazy fog of pleasure. Derek’s face was shiny with spit and a little trickle of Stiles’ come. As he watched, Derek’s tongue darted out, gathering that last taste of Stiles before retreating between lips that looked swollen and kiss-bruised.

 _ **‘Cock** -bruised,’_ Stiles thought to himself, a low curl of arousal twisting in his belly.

Weak-kneed and trembling, Stiles let himself slide to the floor, every bone in his body feeling like it had melted from the heat of their encounter. He fumbled to yank off his thin-soled boots, then kicked off both the fire-suit and Nomex underwear that had been bunched around his knees, unabashed in his nudity despite the fact that Derek was still fully clothed. Which, now that Stiles thought about, was actually _not_ fair. Because Derek was utterly gorgeous and Stiles _really_ wanted to get a proper look at the man, without any pesky clothing in the way.

With that thought in mind, Stiles asked. “Want me to return the favor?”

Derek’s tongue dragged across his puffy, abused mouth again, then he mumbled. “No need.”

Stiles’ brow furrowed for a moment as he tried to understand the averted eyes and the embarrassed words refusing his sexual generosity. Then it clicked and Stiles’ cock _twitched_ because apparently Derek Hale had _gotten off_ on sucking his fucking cock. His eyes flicked down, noting that Derek hadn't even unbuttoned the black jeans he was wearing...and that the dark fabric made it practically impossible to tell he’d just spilled himself inside that denim cage.

 _“Fuck,_ that’s hot.” Stiles breathed. Derek shot him a sharp look and Stiles shrugged even as he stretched his lean, lanky form out across the floor. “What? It _is._ Disappointing, mind you, as I wouldn’t have minded getting my mouth on you again, but definitely fucking hot.”

Derek opened his mouth but, before he could speak, a sharp knock sounded on the door. “Der? You still in there?” There was a pause as the doorknob rattled, making Stiles glad he’d locked it, then the owner of the soft, clear voice huffed and added. “You owe me dinner, Hale!”

Stiles opened his mouth, but a quelling look from Derek stopped him from saying anything. “I’ll be out in a minute, Ali. You riding with me, or taking your car?”

“I have my motorcycle, too.” Came the reply from who Stiles could only assume was Allison Argent. “I figured we’d ride together, but separate, you know?”

“Sounds great. You parked near me?” Allison made a noise of assent, and Derek added. “Why don’t you go wait by our bikes? I’ll be right there. Promise.”

Another huff, then Allison replied. “Fine, but you’ve got _five minutes,_ mister.”

Stiles listened to her retreating footsteps, stretching again and wishing he could just fall asleep right there, rather than having to drive back to his hotel. He noticed Derek looming over him suddenly and looked up at him, murmuring. “Too bad you’ve got to rush off. I dunno about you, but I could’ve gone another round or two.”

Derek sneered. “Well, don’t let me stop you.” He reached over Stiles’ prone body and undid the lock, tugging on the door. It opened a few inches before coming up against Stiles’ hip, and Derek snapped. “Can you fucking _move?”_

“Can you fucking give me a second?” Stiles snapped back, not really liking the implication in Derek’s words that Stiles might go have a few rounds with someone else, though Stiles supposed Derek might also be telling him he should go fuck himself, which wasn’t _as bad,_ at least.

As he slowly stood, Stiles noticed the way Derek was deliberately _not_ looking at him. He rolled his eyes and snorted because apparently it was all well and good for Derek to suck Stiles’ cock, but seeing him fully naked was out of the question. He had to marvel a bit at the incongruity of Derek’s behavior. As Derek tugged the door open more, Stiles took care to stay somewhat behind it and thus out of sight of anyone who might be walking by. Thankfully, Derek didn’t seem inclined to open the door any further than necessary.

Annoyance flashing through him, Stiles waited until Derek was stepping through the doorway to ask sharply. “Should I be expecting these sorts of surprise sex encounters after every show, then?”

Derek didn’t reply, but the door slammed shut behind him hard enough to rattle on its hinges. Stiles scoffed, reaching out to flip the lock again even as he muttered under his breath. “I honestly don’t know if that was a yes or a no.”

It was a little worrying, actually, but Stiles pushed the thought away as he got dressed. He could handle Derek Hale either way.

~*~*~*~

Stiles rolled his shoulders, trying to get himself ready for his freestyle run. He’d taken Racing again, this time against Peter Hale. Derek had lost to his uncle in the second-to-last round, while Stiles had beaten out Allison Argent in the same. For Two-Wheeled Tricks, Derek had managed to edge out his uncle, though only by the barest margin, and they’d both been beaten by Isaac Lahey, who’d taken the round by walking the truck and then following it with a pogo. An impressive set of stunts, really, and ones Stiles knew he wouldn’t be able to manage without a _lot_ more time behind the wheel.

His practical experience was primarily in mud runs, after all. Sure, he could do the odd trick, but as a rule his thing was racing. And he was good at it, obviously. Two racing wins in three days, and he’d taken second the only day he hadn't won outright. The two-wheeled tricks were just going to take him a little longer to get the hang of, that was all. And he _would._ Stiles was nothing if not determined, and Cora was fully invested in teaching him everything she knew, which was good because she and Peter were the Hales who best-dominated the trick-centric events.

And _because_ he was still learning, Stiles had been taking extra care during the freestyle rounds. He hadn't wanted to risk damaging HaleStorm when he had another show the very next night, and that damned snapped axle the first night had been bad enough. But it was Sunday now, and he didn’t have another show until Friday, which meant it wasn’t as big of a deal if he managed to break the truck a little. Which he planned to, if he was being honest. He’d followed HaleStorm all his life; he knew what the fans wanted to see from him. And tonight...well, tonight he would finally be able to deliver.

Stiles paced, a little agitatedly, between HaleStorm and Howling Destruction, and apparently it was annoying his neighbor because Isaac drawled. “If you’re going to keep doing that, can you go on the other side of your truck? I swear, you’re making me dizzy.”

“If you’re prone to motion sickness, you probably chose the wrong profession.” Stiles shot back without much thought, a little surprised when it made the other man laugh. He sighed and stopped pacing, raking his hands through his hair as he said. “Sorry, I just...I’ve got this thing planned in my head and I don’t know if I can pull it off and it’s making me really nervous.”

“I’d say that sort of nervousness goes away with time, but it really doesn’t.” Isaac admitted, shrugging one shoulder when Stiles shot him an annoyed look. “You want someone to lie to you, you’re talking to the wrong driver. Though, really, I doubt any of us would lie to you about something like that. It’s part of the gig. The nerves, and the thrill of it, and the adrenaline rush. The fear when you’re watching your friends drive and every horrible possibility flashes through your mind. None of that goes away, no matter how long you’ve been driving, but you adapt. You learn how to cope with it; how to function around it.”

“Thanks?” Stiles said, a little uncertainly. He wasn’t positive, but it seemed like there had been some encouragement in there somewhere. “I guess I’m just still too new at all this to be calm.”

Isaac hummed noncommittally, then shrugged again. “We all started in the same place, Stilinski. We’ve been at it longer than you, but we’ve all been where you are. You’re a good enough driver, lack of experience aside, to know that most of what goes on when you’re behind the wheel is instinct. Do yourself a favor and don’t overthink it. It’ll only drive you crazy, and it won’t help you out there.”

“Right.” Stiles heard the announcers reminding the fans to put in their scores for Ennis Wade before they ran out of time and rolled his neck again as he grabbed his helmet. “Well, that’s my cue.”

Isaac gave a jaunty, irreverent salute as Stiles pulled the helmet on and climbed into the cab. He had to admit, Isaac had been right about one thing. Overthinking things wasn’t going to help him now. All he could do was go out there and _drive._

~*~*~*~ 

Derek watched in stunned disbelief as HaleStorm toppled over onto its side. Except that right as it went over, Stiles mashed the throttle and sent the truck into a donut while it was still resting on the sides of the two wheels. It was _amazing_ and Derek knew that the move, if done right, could bounce the truck back to an upright position. He held his breath, wondering how it would play out, but with only a few seconds left on the timer, HaleStorm toppled further over until it was resting at an odd angle, not-quite landing on its roof. A safety official ran out onto the track, but Stiles was already cutting the engine and by the time the yellow-jacketed official reached the truck, Stiles was climbing out.

The crowd was going absolutely wild, and Stiles was laughing as he tugged off his helmet, the camera zooming in on him. He waved exuberantly, then blew a kiss to the crowd - to the _camera_ \- before turning to talk to the safety official.

Derek’s heart still felt lodged in his throat, though he wasn’t sure why. The younger driver had never been that _reckless_ before. He’d seemed content - during both the trick event _and_ the freestyle - to err on the side of caution. Derek wasn’t sure what the hell had made Stiles throw caution to the wind, but he knew he didn’t like it.

And honestly, as shaken as he was, he was damn glad his own freestyle had been _before_ Stiles’ tonight because he really didn’t think he should be trying to drive right then. He watched Stiles’ score as it lit up the screen and felt fury wash over him; felt it climbing his throat, hot and burning like acid as it seared away the anxiety and fear he’d been feeling only seconds ago.

 _His_ score had been an 8.96, which wasn’t as good as the night before but was high enough that it _might_ have merited an event-win. Except Stiles’ score was higher.

_**9.89** _

It was damn near a perfect score. Higher even than Derek’s from the night before. One of the highest scores he’d ever seen, in fact.

Derek’s anger was climbing with every heartbeat, and it took a moment before he realized Peter was standing next to him. It was actually his uncle’s drawling voice that drew his attention. “The boy’s not half bad, is he?”

Derek snarled and Peter hummed thoughtfully. “Yes, yes, Derek. We all know you can’t stand the little prodigy, but that’s neither here nor there. He _is_ good, and clearly getting better every day. Which is good for the team, and thus good for business.”

Glancing over, Derek noticed the wicked smirk curving Peter’s lips, those blue eyes dark and hungry as the man purred. “Not to mention, he’s utterly delectable, isn’t he? I might just have to take a quick bite or two out of him.”

“Keep your fucking hands off him.”

Derek didn’t realize he’d said the words out loud until Peter was turning to him with a raised eyebrow and a curious tone. “Oh? And why should I, nephew?”

“Because he works for us.” Derek snapped, bristling at the barely veiled implication in Peter’s tone. “I may not like that fact, but it’s how things are. He drives for us, so he’s off limits. For once in your life, keep your dick in your pants.”

“Hmmm.” Peter shrugged as though it didn’t matter either way, but his eyes were sharp and assessing as he answered. “Very well then. I suppose I can find someone else to amuse myself with, though I doubt they’ll wind up being even half as interesting as dear, sweet Stiles.” He flicked his eyes back to the screen and added thoughtfully. “He won on his third night. He might just be better than _you.”_

“I won my _first_ show.” Derek retorted coldly, because _fuck Peter,_ that’s why. He wasn’t sure why his uncle was getting under his skin so easily tonight as he normally took the man’s commentary in stride, but he was about ready to punch Peter if he didn’t shut up.

“Yes, you did.” Peter agreed, smirking again. “But then, you’d spent a fair amount of time behind the wheel by then. Stiles has only driven a mud hopper before this. As I said...he might just be the better driver, once he’s got some more experience under his belt.”

Derek didn’t bother dignifying that with a response. Instead, he turned on his heel and headed for Silver Huntress and Allison. Peter’s laughter followed him, but Derek didn’t care. All he wanted at the moment was some goddamn peace.

~*~*~*~

Derek found Stiles by HaleStorm’s trailer immediately after the show. A single look - the one his sisters jokingly called his _bitch face,_ in fact - sent the crew scurrying off. Derek might not drive for HaleStorm anymore, but he was still a Hale and the Hales were their bosses. No way in hell were any of them risking pissing Derek off. So it was impossibly easy, really, to curl strong fingers around Stiles’ wrist and drag the man into HaleStorm’s travel trailer, shutting the door behind them with the push of a button. Another button-press that Derek managed from sense-memory turned on the LED strip lighting that ran around the edges of the trailer, where the walls met the floor and the ceiling.

He backed Stiles into the wall, admiring the way the dim lighting cast faint shadows over that pale, sharp face. Stiles’ eyes were wide and dark as he let Derek move him, and he was already panting. As Derek pressed himself against the other man, he could feel Stiles’ erection pressing against his own. Desire and need rushed over Derek, searing through his veins as he confirmed that Stiles wanted this just as much as he did. Watching Stiles’ eyes flutter shut as a soft moan spilled from cherry-red lips, Derek thought it was possible Stiles wanted it _more_ than he did.

The possibility was darkly thrilling. It put Stiles at his mercy, and Derek rode the high of it greedily as he tugged down the zipper on Stiles’ fire-suit. It was the work of only a minute or two to strip Stiles down, until nothing covered his porcelain skin but an enticing flush of arousal. And there was something thrilling about _that,_ too. About having Stiles bared to him while he was still fully dressed. The contrast of it, and the vulnerability on Stiles’ part, and how much power it gave Derek.

 _He_ was in control here, and there was something enthralling about the way Stiles submitted; the way he placed himself so willingly - so _trustingly_ \- in Derek’s hands.

Derek kissed Stiles, hot and fierce and claiming. He took possession of Stiles’ mouth, his hands pinning Stiles’ own to the wall of the trailer as Derek devoured him. Slowly, taking care not to hurt Stiles - and giving the younger man a chance to resist if he wanted to - Derek bore Stiles down to the floor. And Stiles went willingly, shivering a little as his back met the cold metal but not objecting. Derek’s mouth moved to Stiles’ throat while he dug a small tube out of a pocket on his fire-suit. He’d stashed it there before coming to find Stiles, a half-formed plan swimming around in his head.

The quiet snick of the lid popping sounded as loud as a gunshot in the quiet of the trailer, seeming to underline the quiet gasp of surprise Stiles let out. Derek met whiskey eyes and felt drunk on the emotion there; the need and trust and certainty Stiles was radiating was far better - _headier -_ than the best shot of alcohol. Swearing softly, Derek coated one hand in lube before tossing the tube to the side. Stiles kept those hypnotic eyes on Derek’s face as he bent his knees, drawing his feet up even as he parted those pale, creamy thighs.

Derek’s slick hand slipped between Stiles’ spread legs, nails scraping lightly over Stiles’ balls. Stiles hissed in pleasure, hips twitching up as though seeking more contact, and Derek’s hand trailed further back. He pressed lightly on the skin behind Stiles’ balls, smirking when Stiles’ moaned, then let one slick fingertip circle Stiles’ hole.

When Stiles’ hand came up to clutch at Derek, he tsked softly. “Uh-uh, Stiles.” He chided, stilling the questing fingers that had been petting Stiles’ entrance so enticingly. “Hands above your head.”

Trembling faintly, Stiles nevertheless obeyed. He raised his hands, crossing them at the wrist above his own head. Derek immediately reached out, his free hand closing over them. He banded both wrists, pinning Stiles there, his other hand resuming its previous actions. As Derek pressed two fingers slowly into the tight clutch of Stiles’ body, Stiles tugged against Derek’s restraining grip. But he was moaning, hips canting up as though asking for more, and Derek knew he didn’t actually want to be released.

Derek let his mouth suck a new bruise onto the pale skin of Stiles’ throat, dappled among the ones he’d already left there, even as he began thrusting his fingers in and out of Stiles’ ass. Stiles was keening, the lithe expanse of his body bowing up where it was stretched out in front of Derek like an offering. With his chestnut hair tousled, his golden eyes dark and hazy with pleasure, and his pale skin beaded with sweat, Stiles looked like sin personified. The feel of him around Derek’s fingers was temptation itself, slick and hot and tight but loosening with every thrust.

Curious how far he could push, Derek slipped a third finger past Stiles’ rim and then, when Stiles responded by letting out a sobbing plea - ... _more, p-please Der...need you, nee-eee-nnggg... -_ he pressed a fourth in as well. And Stiles opened for him, soft and pliant. He gave Derek every inch of himself, holding nothing back. It set Derek’s head spinning; made him feel greedy for whatever else Stiles might give. Made him want to see what else Stiles might _allow._

He leaned in, licking sweat and pre-come from Stiles’ belly, salty and bitter and sharp in that same, moreish way Derek remembered from the day before. He ignored Stiles’ cock, instead licking his way up the younger man’s chest to once again devour his throat. Derek’s fingers never stopped moving inside of Stiles; loosening the tight clutch of his body until Stiles’ hole was slack and open, as though begging for more. Begging for cock. Begging for _Derek._

Derek finally brought his mouth to Stiles’ ear and purred darkly. “Come for me, Stiles.” He punctuated the command with a twisting press of his fingers, deep inside the other man’s body, and Stiles _obeyed,_ tightening around Derek’s fingers and making a sticky-wet mess of his own belly and chest.

It was the best sort of high, really. An all-natural shot of oxytocin and dopamine and endorphins flooding Derek’s brain. As he stared down at Stiles’ flushed face, he noted that Stiles looked utterly sated. His face was slack with pleasure, full lips curved up into the faintest hint of a smile. His eyes were half-lidded and glassy, not quite focused on anything. His whole body had gone limp, even the too-tight clutch of his internal muscles around Derek’s fingers going lax as he languished, utterly replete beneath Derek. And for just a moment, Derek felt...

... _soft._

Derek wanted - quite suddenly and very much - to gather Stiles into his arms and pepper tender kisses all over that pretty face; along high, sharp cheekbones and down the slope of that upturned, snobbish little nose. He wanted to lick his way into that soft, sweet mouth. He wanted to replace his fingers with his cock and sink into Stiles’ heat - moreso, into Stiles’ _warmth_ \- and simply bask there. To settle himself inside of Stiles, not to chase his own release but simply to be close to him.

It was a lazy, half-formed idea; hazy and amorphous and only partially realized before Derek found himself panicking; rejecting the entire concept out of hand.

He jerked himself away from Stiles in a rush, refusing to feel guilty when Stiles hissed in discomfort at the sudden withdrawal of Derek’s fingers from his body. Struggling to compose himself - fighting down the uncomfortable urges he was suddenly feeling - Derek sneered as he wiped his shiny-slick hand on Stiles’ thigh.

“Christ, look at you.” Derek spat, trying desperately to find the hatred and loathing he’d felt for Stiles only a short while ago. “You were _begging_ for it. You would have let me fuck you in this trailer.”

Stiles didn’t seem to notice the sharp edge to Derek’s words, because he hummed agreeably while stretching and then answered breathily. “What do you mean, _would have?_ I’m not quite a teenager anymore, but I’m more than capable of going a second round.” That cute little nose of his wrinkled up as he added. “Though maybe _here_ isn’t the best choice. Eventually the crew’s gonna need to put the truck away, after all.”

He paused, seeming to consider something, before he flicked his tawny eyes over to Derek and said. “Do you want to come back to my hotel room? Or we can go to yours. Either is cool with me.”

“I bet.” Derek snapped, getting to his feet and struggling not to wince as his cock throbbed in the confines of his Nomex underwear, demanding attention Derek wasn’t planning on giving it. At least, not via Stiles, which was what his body wanted. “I’m not fucking you, Stilinski. Get over yourself.”

Derek’s tone - possibly combined with the look on his face and his defensive body language - finally seemed to register with Stiles. He frowned, saying stiffly. “Considering this is the _third time_ you’ve instigated sex with me, I think I can be forgiven some level of presumption.”

Derek scoffed. “This wasn’t _sex.”_

Stiles’ eyebrows winged up. “Well, I don’t know what _you_ call it, but - as a general rule - when someone touches my dick, I touch someone else’s dick, or someone’s got any part of their body _in my ass,_ I consider that sex.” Rolling his eyes as he dragged on his own Nomex underthings, Stiles added. “And hell, call it whatever you want. Call it fucking _tiddlywinks_ for all I care. _You_ initiated it, so my point stands.”

“It wasn’t sex.” Derek reiterated, something hateful and vicious bubbling up inside him, egged on by the casually dismissive way Stiles responded to his anger; to his _enmity._ It spilled over, words tripping off his tongue, caustic and burning. “I was just curious.”

“Curious.” Stiles sounded skeptical now, folding his arms over his chest as he stared hard at Derek. “So I’m what, your little experiment with gayness?”

“My sexuality isn’t in question. I’ve known I was bi since I was a teenager.” Derek retorted. “But did you honestly think I didn’t notice your little schoolboy crush on me the day we met, or the way you reacted when I warned you away from me? So yeah, I was _curious.”_

Derek gave Stiles a scathing, disgusted look, his insides writhing uncomfortably. “I wanted to see how far you’d let me go. How far I could push you. Now I know. You’d have let me take you right here in the trailer, like a fucking whore.”

A loud, sharp _crack_ split the air half a second before Derek’s head jerked to the side. A heartbeat after that, a searing heat blossomed across the side of his face. Reaching up to prod at his sore cheek, he shot Stiles a wide-eyed, stunned look. Disbelief colored his words. “You _hit_ me!”

“You don’t get to make me feel cheap!” Stiles snapped back, reaching down and grabbing his fire-suit and his thin-soled boots from the floor. He pushed past Derek as he added. “I don’t know what the fuck your problem is, Hale, but you’d better sort it the fuck out before we see each other again.”

He raked Derek with a sneering, disdainful look and added. “You’re hot, but _nobody_ has looks good enough to make me tolerate this sort of treatment. If you touch me again without the proper level of respect, I _will_ make sure you regret it.”

Derek scoffed, though something in his belly twisted with fear. There was a coldness to Stiles now that made him think the younger man might actually be able to follow through on that threat.

“Oh, you don’t think I could make you regret it?” Stiles asked, something almost _unholy_ gleaming in those amber-and-gilt eyes of his. “Let me just prove it to you, then.”

He maintained steady eye contact as he reached out and slammed his palm against the button to open the trailer’s door. Then - still clad in only the Nomex underpants and undershirt, and his socks - Stiles turned on his heel and stormed out, nose in the air.

And Derek had to admit, it was a damn good point to make. Because Stiles was more _undressed_ than not, and his neck was littered with three days worth of hickeys that he’d previously kept covered, and Derek was now going to have to follow him out of the trailer. And true, Derek was still fully dressed in his fire-suit, but he was also pretty sure he had a brilliant red mark across his cheek in the shape of Stiles’ hand. He could only pray that most of the crew was still off to wherever they’d scurried when Derek had glared at them earlier...and that those who _were_ around were smart enough to keep their mouths shut about the son of the woman who signed their damn paychecks.

Knowing there was nothing for it, Derek arranged his face into the worst scowl he could and stormed out of the trailer, praying the fury radiating off of him would keep anyone from asking any questions.

It _did,_ but somehow Derek wasn’t quite able to convince himself it was a win.

~*~*~*~

Stiles’ next show wasn’t one Derek was at. That was fine with him. He needed distance so he could think about the situation objectively. It wasn’t easy, because Derek’s strikingly good looks and their blatant chemistry weren’t something Stiles had a lot of experience with. He wasn’t a virgin, but he wasn’t very far removed from having been one. The whole thing was just...outside his comfort zone. He wasn’t unfamiliar with the _concept_ of hate-sex, but he’d never dealt with it before, either. He wasn’t sure he wanted to be dealing with it _now,_ actually. Because maybe Derek hated _him,_ but Stiles didn’t hate Derek. Stiles had, in fact, had something of a celebrity crush on the slightly older man for several years and he had a feeling it was only going to get worse the more he got to know Derek. And Stiles didn’t want to be stuck in the unenviable position of caring about Derek far more than Derek cared about him.

Stiles also wasn’t sure he was strong enough to resist Derek’s advances. At least, not if Derek made a concerted effort. And Stiles wasn’t saying he _would,_ because he wasn’t arrogant enough to assume he mattered that much to Derek. But Stiles was aware of how some people couldn't resist anything - or any _one_ \- they viewed as a challenge. _So._ Stiles wasn’t ruling out the possibility that he would find himself being pursued by Derek, as it were.

And if he _was_ pursued...well, Stiles was honest enough to admit he’d eventually wind up giving in.

So, all things considered, Stiles was grateful it was almost two weeks before he saw Derek again. The time apart had given him a chance to shore up his defenses. He wasn’t naive enough to think he’d be able to hold out against a passionate Derek Hale for long, but he planned to do his best. If he was going to have any hope of making things work, he needed to get Derek to bend; to _compromise._ If Derek would do that, then Stiles would do his best to make things work. Because, really, he’d never felt anything like what had sparked between himself and Derek. It was passionate, and greedy, and demanding. He thought it might consume him, like living flame, and Stiles figured it might not be a bad way to go.

But only on _his_ terms. And - as anyone who knew Stiles well could attest to - he was nothing if not stubborn.

Stiles made it through the show with relative ease. He’d spent some time with Cora during the two weeks, learning how to do some of the tricks _without_ damaging HaleStorm. Or with minimal damage, at least, which was usually all one could hope for. A driver named Erica Reyes and her truck - Red Queen - won racing. The Twin Terror driver Stiles _hadn't_ met yet - Ethan - took two-wheeled tricks. And Derek had taken the freestyle. But Stiles had done well in all three categories and, accordingly, he’d placed second overall. It wasn’t _first,_ but it was good. And that was the business for you, anyway. One day you were dominating the arena, and the next you could be the low-scorer. Nothing was a guarantee; nothing was certain. There was no such thing as a sure thing. 

Stiles actually liked the fact that there was an unknown number of variables that went into each and every show. It made things more exciting, as far as he was concerned. It was hard to be bored when you never knew what was going to happen next.

Stiles was back in his regular clothes, talking to Erica - he’d met her the week before and they’d hit it off almost right away - when Derek’s path finally crossed with his own.

“Stiles. We need to talk.”

Stiles slowly turned to face Derek, expression bored and impassive. He refused to give Derek the satisfaction of knowing how his heart was thumping wildly against the inside of his ribs. “Oh?” He asked, the words coming out only mildly curious. “About what?”

Derek’s eyes flicked briefly to Erica, then he gritted out from between clenched teeth. “About our _last_ conversation.”

“Ah.” Stiles shrugged one shoulder. “I think I made myself pretty clear, Derek. I don’t have anything else to say about it.”

He turned back to Erica, dismissing Derek and resuming his conversation. “So, the thing you have to keep in mind, when you’re considering the multiverse as a whole, is all of the ret-conning that gets done, because a lot of it’s contradictory. So you can’t really-”

“Dammit, Stiles...” Derek interrupted, temper lacing his words. “Can you just give me five minutes?” After a tense pause, he added tersely. _“Please.”_

And _that_ caught Stiles’ attention.

He hummed consideringly as he turned to study Derek, then he slowly nodded. “Fine. You can have _five minutes._ ”

When Derek simply stared at him in expectant silence, Stiles raised his eyebrows and drawled. “You’re wasting your five minutes, Derek. If you’re going to talk, talk. Otherwise, go away.”

There was another moment of tense silence, then Derek bit out. _“In. Private.”_

“Ah.” Stiles’ eyebrows drew together as he considered the request. On the one hand, he wasn’t sure he trusted himself alone with Derek. On the other hand, he wasn’t sure he wanted whatever Derek had to say to become fodder for the gossip mill.

Sighing loudly, Stiles finally gestured at Derek. “Fine, then. Did you have someplace in mind or are we off to search for a utility closet?”

Derek’s cheeks turned pink as Erica snorted, but Stiles didn’t flinch or blush. He refused to acknowledge the unintentional innuendo in what he’d said, having always been a fan of ignoring embarrassing things in the hopes that others would do the same.

“C’mon.” Derek mumbled at last, turning and walking away.

Stiles huffed in annoyance, but followed because...well, because there wasn’t anything else _to_ do. He’d agreed to hear Derek out, after all. He couldn't do that if he didn’t go with the other man. So he followed Derek, who led him to Prince-of-Hale’s travel-trailer. And when Derek gestured for him to go inside of it, Stiles only hesitated for a moment before complying. He refused to think about the last time he’d been in a trailer with Derek, stubbornly pushing the heated memories away by focusing instead on his anger at Derek’s treatment of him at the end of that encounter. He watched Derek close the trailer’s door, then blinked to adjust his eyes to the rope lighting Derek turned on.

When another minute passed with nothing said - Derek seemed to be studying the floor near his own feet with burning intensity - Stiles finally bit out. “Say what you’re going to say or I’m leaving. I have better things to do than stand around, waiting to be called a slut again.”

Derek’s head snapped up and he scowled, muttering. “I never called you a slut.”

“A whore, then.” Stiles said coldly, not willing to give quarter on this. “I’m not in the mood to argue semantics. Speak, or don’t - I don’t care either way - but your five minutes is just about up and I’m not really in the mood to give you more time.”

Derek dropped his eyes again, expression still fierce and brooding, but he didn’t say anything. And really, that was the end of Stiles’ patience. Shaking his head, he stomped over to the button that would open the trailer’s door, done with the whole damn thing. Derek had made his choice, right from the start, and Stiles wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction of wasting another goddamn _second,_ waiting for Derek to give him the barest scrap of _anything._ Stiles had demanded respect and it was clear he wasn’t going to get it, which settled things rather neatly. And if it wasn’t the outcome Stiles had been hoping for, that was no one’s business but his own.

Right as he reached for the button, ready to aggressively slam his open palm against it, Derek _finally_ spoke, voice a tight whisper that practically scraped its way out of his throat.

“I’m sorry.”

Stiles froze, arm still stretched towards the button, then turned to look over his shoulder and blink at Derek. “What?’

A muscle in Derek’s jaw twitched as though he was grinding his teeth, then he said roughly. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that. I didn’t _mean_ it. Not...not _really._ I don’t-”

He cut himself off, swearing softly under his breath and looking pained as he mumbled. “I’m not good with people. With _crowds,_ sure, and with fans, because that’s just repeating lines from a script. With my family or the people that I grew up with who understand me, I can manage. But not...not with _people._ Not one-on-one, when I have to use _words_ because they don’t understand the way I communicate without them. Not when I need to think things through and take care with how they come out, instead of just reacting.”

Stiles licked his lips, letting his arm drop to his side as he turned to study Derek’s face, which was twisted up with a combination of anger and defeat and frustration. He had to admit, it was sort of endearing, hearing Derek admit that he had trouble with human interaction. Endearing, and a little unexpected considering the confident and charming persona the older man showed to the cameras and crowds and adoring fans. But Stiles wrestled with his own anxiety - had since he was a child, really - so he knew there was a difference between _confidence_ and _ease_ when doing something; that just because someone wasn’t _showing_ their anxiety that didn’t mean they weren’t _feeling_ it.

He took a hesitant step closer to Derek, then stopped. He traced his teeth with his tongue, carefully choosing his words before he asked. “So...what do you want from me?”

Frustration - pure and heated and edged with temper - flashed across Derek’s face before he got control of himself. Just as carefully as Stiles had spoken - as though weighing his words - Derek said. “I don’t know, exactly. I...I want to touch you. I _like_ touching you. I _don’t_ like that you’re driving HaleStorm. I don’t like the circumstances. And I don’t know how to...to separate. To take the anger and resentment I feel about the situation and untangle it from the _want.”_

“I can work with that.” Stiles offered softly, taking another step closer. He angled his head to catch Derek’s averted eyes and smirked a little as he added. “Seriously. I don’t mind if you get a little rough, or say some snarky things. I don’t even mind you calling me a slut or whatever, so long as I know you don’t _mean it._ I kind of like when sex gets a little mean, sometimes. And I don’t care what kind of snarky shit you say when we’re _not_ fucking, as long you leave the fucking out of it.”

Stiles shrugged at Derek’s wide-eyed surprise. “You want to take shots at my driving, go ahead. But not in front of the cameras. And you leave whatever else is between us out of it. You don’t throw me sleeping with you in my face when you’re pissy about work-shit, and I’ll do you the courtesy of not letting that work-shit affect the fact that I’m sleeping with you. That seem fair to you?”

Derek nodded, looking a little dazed, like he hadn't imagined things going this well; like he’d expected Stiles to reject his broody, socially awkward self out of hand. And Stiles could forgive that, because Derek didn’t know him very well, despite the number of times they’d traded orgasms. But Stiles knew himself, and he liked to think he was honest with himself. Derek was hot like burning and Stiles liked the way the other man touched him. He wanted Derek’s hands and mouth back on him, as often as he could get them for at least the foreseeable future. And more than that, he wanted a chance to unravel the enigma that was Derek Hale. He wanted to see all of the layers Derek seemed to have. The Derek that his family knew, and the Derek the other legacy drivers knew, and the Derek he’d caught brief glimpses of during their moments of intimacy. The softness there, and the kindness. But he wanted to see more of the snarky, asshole Derek, too. The Derek who was simply _reacting,_ letting his emotions pour out without restraint, no polish or charm to smooth those rough edges.

Stiles was greedy and he wanted to know _all_ of it. And he was more than willing to deal with a few inconveniences to make that happen.

Feeling a little steadier - more sure of himself, now that they were firmly on the same page - Stiles closed the distance between them. He fisted his hands in all that dark hair and dragged Derek’s mouth to his. He used teeth and tongue to shoot heat through them both; to please himself, and Derek, too. He molded his body to Derek’s in a filthy, sinuous grind that made it perfectly clear what he wanted. And he all but _purred_ with satisfaction when Derek groaned into the kiss, big hands cradling Stiles’ hips for a moment before sliding back to cup his ass possessively.

With one last wicked flick of his tongue - and a greedy nip to Derek’s lower lip - Stiles broke the kiss, though he left himself snugged up tight to Derek’s muscular frame for his own enjoyment. In a husky, breathless voice, Stiles murmured. “I have dinner plans, but then I’m free. I’ll text you my hotel and room number. I want you on a bed this time.”

Derek’s breath hitched, then he nuzzled into Stiles’ throat, sucking a quick mark to replace the ones that had healed since they’d been together last. “M’kay.” He said, when his mouth was no longer occupied, locking those grey-green eyes of his on Stiles’ own. “You’re sure?”

And really, if he hadn't been, that would have sealed it. Because the man Derek had been acting like the last time they’d been alone together wouldn’t have bothered to double-check; would have cared about his own wants too much to care about confirming what _Stiles_ wanted.

So Stiles smiled, slow and wicked, pressing a soft kiss to Derek’s lips before murmuring. “I’m sure. I’ll text you.” Another kiss - quick, but a touch harder this time - and he added. “I have to go. I’ll see you in a few hours, yeah?”

“Yeah.” Derek replied hoarsely, still seeming a little dazed.

And really, that was the best way to leave him. So Stiles slid himself out of Derek’s grip and crossed the trailer, hitting the button to open the door. As he walked out, he turned back to shoot Derek a quick grin and a cheeky wink, laughing when Derek scowled in reply. He had a feeling things were going to turn out just fine.

~*~*~*~

Stiles was humming as he walked into the hotel’s lobby, hitting send on the text he’d promised Derek he would send when he was free. _**Just got back.**_

His phone dinged only a few seconds later.

**Hale-Prince: _I noticed._**

Stiles stopped walking, frowning down at his phone. “What the hell does that mean?” He muttered, pulling up his text-keyboard as he tried to decide on how to respond.

As he debated the options, he finished crossing to the elevators, pressing the up button and then tapping his foot restlessly as he tried to decide if he could ask how long Derek would be, or if that would make him seem weirdly needy.

The elevator arrived just as Stiles had made up his mind and he stepped onto it without looking up from his phone, part of his brain registering that someone else was following him on. As the doors slid shut, Stiles hit send again. _**How soon do I get to see you?**_

Ten seconds later - following a soft _buzz_ from the other person on the elevator’s phone - Stiles found himself pressed face-first against the side of the elevator. He tensed, ready to fuck his unknown assailant up - and silently thanking his dad for ensuring he knew how to defend himself - when a hot, wet mouth pressed against the side of his throat and his knees turned to jelly. Stiles moaned, pressing back against the strength and heat of the body behind him.

Derek chuckled in his ear, low and dark, then murmured. “This soon enough for you?” Before Stiles could respond, he ground his erection against Stiles’ ass, pressing him more firmly against the elevator wall as he added. “I was expecting you to try to fight me, since I didn’t think you’d noticed it was me.”

“Derek?” Stiles panted, unable to resist teasing. “Damn. And here I thought I was going to get lucky _twice_ tonight.”

Derek growled, teeth closing on Stiles’ earlobe a _little_ too hard before he snarled. “You think some random creep could fuck you good enough to satifsy you?”

Stiles laughed a little breathlessly, murmuring. “No harm in letting them try.”

Derek growled again. _“Slut.”_ He hissed, and Stiles moaned in wordless agreement, arching back into the threatening grind of Derek’s hips.

One of Derek’s hands slid down, cupping Stiles’ arousal through his jeans. A moment later, Derek’s hand curled around that bulge, squeezing just hard enough to border on painful. Stiles whimpered, head thrown back against Derek’s shoulder as he arched into the rough touch. He was panting and trembling, everything feeling edgy and heated.

 _“My_ slut.” Derek murmured against his ear, his touch suddenly gentling as he rocked his palm against Stiles’ trapped erection.

“Ye-es...” Stiles gasped, twisting his head until he could catch Derek’s mouth in a sloppy, heated kiss.

The elevator doors opened with a soft ding on Stiles’ floor and there was a loud, shocked gasp. Derek and Stiles pulled apart to see an elderly couple staring at them. The man seemed horrified, but Stiles had to bite his lip to stifle a giggle as they edged themselves out into the hallway because the woman seemed to be eyeing them with curiosity and a bit of interest. When the elderly pair had shuffled onto the elevator and the shiny silver doors had closed, Stiles couldn't help glancing over at Derek. His cheeks - and ears, Stiles noted - were pink with embarrassment, but his grey-green eyes were heated, the pupils blown wide with lust as he met Stiles’ gaze.

Stiles’ tongue darted out, slicking over his bottom lip as he tried to moisten his suddenly dry mouth, then Stiles jerked his head up the hallway. “This way.” He said, turning on his heel and striding quickly towards the door to his room.

Derek kept pace easily, something predatory in the way he stalked along behind Stiles. Stiles slid the little keycard out of his wallet, moaning as Derek’s mouth was suddenly pressed to the nape of his neck, hot and wet and demanding. Stiles fumbled with the little bit of magnetized plastic and it took three tries to make the light turn green but finally - _finally_ \- Stiles got it to cooperate. He hurriedly pushed the door open and stumbled through, into the dark room beyond. He heard Derek kick the door shut behind them and the next thing Stiles knew he was being spun around, his back hitting a wall as Derek’s mouth found his in a biting kiss that had heat licking its way up his spine.

Groaning, Stiles dropped the keycard to the carpet as he wound his arms around Derek’s neck, clinging to broad shoulders for support as his legs decided they didn’t want to support him anymore. And that was fine, really, because Derek’s hands were sliding down his back and over his ass, then lower to grab his thighs. He lifted and Stiles whimpered into the kiss, winding his long legs around Derek’s waist. For one long moment he was pressed snugly to the wall, then suddenly Derek was moving. Stiles absently spared a thought to hope that the other man wouldn’t trip and send them both to the floor, but most of his focus was on the menthol-and-smoke taste of Derek’s tongue in his mouth and the way their bodies were pressing together as Derek walked.

The world tipped sideways as Derek bore him down to the king sized bed and Stiles hissed out a pleased agreement at the weight of Derek on top of him. Before he had a chance to enjoy it properly, Derek was moving back and Stiles might have complained except that seconds later Derek was yanking open the curtains. A combination of moonlight and streetlights spilled into the room, illuminating things just enough for Stiles to watch as Derek shrugged out of his leather jacket, tossing it onto a chair before yanking off his henley.

And as all of Derek’s gloriously muscular chest was suddenly in view, dappled with shadow in a way that was somehow more tempting than proper lighting would have been, Stiles decided that Derek had the _exact right idea._ He toed off his shoes at the same time he squirmed his way out of his plaid overshirt, tossing it to the floor. His graphic tee followed quickly, his eyes never leaving Derek as the other man removed shoes and socks before undoing the fly of the black jeans that were so tight they seemed painted on, like a second skin. Stiles licked his lips, his own hands shoving down jeans and boxers, taking care to shove his socks off with them because he refused to ever be _that guy._

Derek prowled closer to the bed again and Stiles shifted to the edge of the mattress to meet him. He surged forward, lips pressing to the dark line of hair below Derek’s navel as his clever fingers curled into the waistband of the dark jeans, tugging them down. Derek groaned low in his throat, one hand cupping the back of Stiles’ head. Stiles imagined it would prevent him from moving back, but that was fine because he’d had no intention of doing so. Stiles nuzzled at Derek’s abs, his mouth soft and open and wet as he followed the lines of rippling muscles beneath hot, sleek skin. His tongue traced that line of hair down, down, _down,_ to where it thickened into wiry curls, then his mouth took a detour to one side.

He set his teeth to the hard ridge of Derek’s hipbone when he reached it, then sucked a bruise into the curve there, his own personal mark of possession. Derek didn’t seem to mind, if the way he arched into Stiles’ mouth was any indication.

When he was done with that task, Stiles used his tongue to follow the tantalizing _V_ of Derek’s pelvis until it led him back to center. He nuzzled there for a moment, breathing in the bitter-sharp musk of the other man’s arousal as he pressed soft, open-mouthed kisses to the base of Derek’s gorgeous, uncut cock. Derek groaned above him and Stiles delighted in it; savored the giving of pleasure as much as he’d ever savored the taking of it. As his mouth skimmed over heated flesh, his soft lips and slick tongue teasing up the length, Stiles aimed his tawny eyes at Derek.

He pinned the other man with a gaze full of both desire and demand even as he parted plush lips and encased Derek’s arousal in wet heat. He hollowed his cheeks, tongue pressing up against silken steel as he lowered his head. He went slowly, drawing back just a little every so often, to feel the way Derek’s hips would press forward. Stiles liked the way Derek chased his mouth; liked the way Derek’s fingers went tight in his hair as though afraid Stiles would pull away completely. And maybe that was mean of him, that he liked the way Derek was uncertain of him. Maybe it was small and petty, that part of him thrilled at being wanted strongly enough that there could _be_ fear tangled up with it.

Stiles was okay with that, though. With the smallness, and the pettiness, and the meanness of it. He was okay with the sharp, cutting edges of the whole thing. They made it easier, somehow, to relax his throat and swallow Derek all the way down at last. Made it a simple thing to accept the tears that pricked his eyes at the faint, tickling protest his throat put up and the dull, throbbing ache that took up residence in his jaw from the too-wide stretch of it as he went still and simply let Derek’s twitching hips do all the work as he fucked his way into Stiles’ throat over and over again.

And when Derek swore and fisted his strong fingers in Stiles hair, dragging him back until he had no choice but to fall back onto the mattress, it was with a searing sense of victory that he let himself be moved. Because his mouth was puffy and swollen, his face damp with tears and spit. He left his mouth slack and open, panting and heavy-lidded as he gazed up at Derek, because Stiles knew what he looked like right then and he wasn’t above using that to his advantage.

Derek was all but snarling as he shoved and kicked his way out of the jeans that Stiles had left bunched around his knees, caring only about getting them out of his way enough to get his mouth on Derek the way he’d wanted to. Stiles raised his arms above his head, tipping his head back and elongating his body in a stretch that drew attention to what seemed like miles of lithe limbs and pale, mole-dotted skin. He rested his heels on the edge of the mattress as he drew his knees up, then shifted them as far apart as he could without discomfort. Derek’s eyes dropped down and then so did the rest of him until he was kneeling on the floor, his muscular frame settling between Stiles’ spread legs as he sucked a bruise on the inside of one creamy, trembling thigh.

Stiles keened with it, riding the wild high that whipped through his blood in a heady rush of _want_ so strong it robbed him of breath. He sucked in a greedy lungful, then let it out again on an unsteady sob as Derek’s fingers, slick with heaven only knew what, pressed into the hot clutch of his body as his mouth skimmed higher on Stiles’ thigh. Derek’s mouth didn’t go far before pausing, sucking yet another mark into existence on that expanse of soft, vulnerable flesh and Stiles wondered at it. Marveled at having a lover who seemed determined to write possession into Stiles’ very skin; to scrawl his ownership across the body he was claiming.

Derek’s fingers spread Stiles open with a haste that belied the fact they had all night and he couldn't bring himself to chastise Derek for it. Had no desire to plead ease, or patience, or caution. He wanted this, just as it was. Fierce and burning and overwhelming. _Devouring._ Which was precisely what it felt like, when that talented mouth finally slid high enough to meet Derek’s hands. His tongue slid out, dancing around the place where Derek had tucked his fingers inside of Stiles, everything slick and heated and obscene as Stiles swore and arched and clawed at the bedding.

Derek chuckled, and the sound was dark and rich and a little mean around the edges just like everything else, and Stiles wanted the sound just as much as he wanted the rest of it.

“Now.” He gasped, and somehow it was both a plea and a demand, the word coming out sharp and begging at the same time. Stiles didn’t think he could have recreated the effect if he tried, which was a shame considering how quickly Derek moved to obey.

He moved up Stiles’ body like a wave sliding over the shore. It was smooth, and graceful, but behind the action was power and the potential for destruction. Stiles welcomed it. More than that, he reveled in it. It was what he’d wanted without ever knowing it; what he’d been missing in his life. This passion, and need, and longing that had settled itself inside of him since meeting Derek. It was painful and it was beautiful and he didn’t know yet how things would play out but he didn’t care. No matter what happened - no matter how much this might hurt in the end - it would be worth it. Because right now, in this moment, Derek Hale belonged to him and Stiles was certain that was worth _anything._

At the same time Derek’s lips took his in a kiss that made his heart ache, somehow tender and sweet despite the heat roaring between them, he slid himself into Stiles’ body. And Stiles sank into both the burning stretch as Derek’s cock pressed into his ass and the soothing warmth of the kiss that was winding its way around his heart, knowing he was doomed and not caring in the least.

He wound his arms around Derek’s shoulders and raised his hips to meet every hard, punishing thrust Derek offered. He tipped his chin up and offered, sweetly, every bit of softness he had to the way Derek was still tenderly claiming his mouth. And between the two, Stiles’ heart raced and stuttered and found itself tugged along as though being led by a rope wound securely around it.

And when Derek’s hand pressed there, against the skin of Stiles’ chest where his heart was beating like a wild thing inside the bony cage of his ribs, it tipped itself neatly into his palm and settled there as though it belonged. As though it had _always_ belonged. Stiles’ heart fell to Derek between one beat and the next, given so freely he barely noted it, too caught up in the way he was breaking apart. Shattering beneath the crashing swell of the waves of pleasure Derek kept pouring over him with every demanding roll of his hips.

Stiles was helpless against it - any of it; all of it - and went willingly. Let Derek drive him higher and higher until all he could do, until all that was left, was to fall back again. His release came with a scream that tore at his throat, left it raw and aching in the wake of the sound. His eyes were blind with the pleasure of it, his body limp and trembling as Derek went still above him, tense and silent as he shuddered his way through his own release before his heavy weight settled onto Stiles, pressing him down into the mattress and making it hard to breathe.

Stiles might have protested, if he’d been able to find the breath or the energy or the words to do so. As it was, he simply closed his eyes and soaked up the way he felt. Soft, and glowing, and warm. Safe beneath Derek’s bulk, as though the man’s body was a shield; a barrier between Stiles and the rest of the world. It was a silly thought, foolish and romantic, but Stiles didn’t mind.

By the time Derek roused his own strength and mental faculties enough to roll to one side so he was no longer crushing Stiles beneath him, Stiles was asleep, a small smile curving his pretty mouth up at the corners.

~*~*~*~

Some time during the night, Derek roused Stiles with soft touches. Stiles woke slowly, by degrees, so that by the time he woke up he was already floating in a pool of languid pleasure. The air felt syrupy and thick with it. It washed over him in a gentle ebb-and-flow. It was warmth rather than heat and when Derek finally slid inside of him, Stiles was positive nothing had ever felt more amazing than this. He slid over the edge in the same languorous way he’d built up to it. Slow, and easy, and perfect. This time when he fell asleep, Stiles was curled snugly into Derek’s arms.

~*~*~*~

Stiles had always been the sort of person who woke with the sun. Not because he was a morning person, as he wasn’t; not by any stretch of the imagination. But simply because something inside his body liked to inform him that it was morning and the sun was up. And this little internal alarm always woke him up, regardless of what time he’d actually managed to fall asleep at. Most often, he didn’t _stay_ awake. He’d wake up, note that it was now ass-o-clock-AM, and promptly go back to sleep unless he had somewhere pressing to be. Stiles wasn’t quite sure why his body insisted on informing him that the sun had risen, but it _had_ ensured he’d never really been late to school even when he’d been pulling an all-nighter so he figured it wasn’t _all_ bad.

He sort of wished he knew how to turn it off, though, since he no longer had classes to attend and his mornings - especially the _early_ mornings - tended to be empty of appointments or obligations.

So he wasn’t surprised when he blinked open his eyes the moment the sun started to crest the horizon, the first hint of light illuminating the sky, just starting to paint it in the glorious riot of colors that accompanied sunrise. He sighed softly as he slid out of the warm bed and padded across the hotel room to the windows with their still-open curtains. He stood there, shivering a little in the room’s air conditioning as he looked out over the skyline as the sky went yellow-orange-pink behind the buildings. He startled a little when a wall of heat and muscle settled against his back, strong arms winding around his waist as a chin hooked over his shoulder.

“I didn’t mean to wake you.” Stiles murmured, unwilling to shatter the early morning quiet with the loudness of his voice.

“You didn’t.” Derek said, voice just as soft. He nuzzled into Stiles’ throat, then added. “I’m an early riser. I always have been. I’m actually going to go use the hotel’s gym. You want to join me?”

“God, no.” Stiles laughed, rolling his eyes as he turned in Derek’s arms to smile up at him. “I have a habit of waking up at sunrise, but I’m _not_ a morning person. And I certainly don’t have the energy or motivation for an early-morning workout session.”

He stroked his hands up Derek’s arms, humming happily as he added. “It certainly seems to be working for _you,_ though, so don’t let my lazy habits affect you.”

Derek huffed out a small, amused sound. He leaned in to press a soft kiss to Stiles’ mouth. When he drew back, he said. “Do you want me to come get you when I’m done so we can eat breakfast together?”

At the words, something in Stiles’ chest did a long, slow roll. It felt warm, and bright, and Stiles clamped down hard on his panic, forcing himself to smile and nod. “Sounds great. I’ll probably go back to sleep, so you might want to take the key with you so you can let yourself back in. I’m pretty sure I dropped it somewhere near the door last night.”

Derek pressed another kiss to his mouth, then turned to gather clothes and the key from the floor. Stiles slid back under the covers as he watched Derek dress, every ounce of his concentration poured into keeping the easy, carefree smile on his lips. He waved teasingly and blew Derek a kiss as the other man slipped out the door, his heart fluttering madly when it made Derek _blush._

Then the door clicked shut behind Derek...

...and Stiles _panicked._

“Oh my god.” He whimpered, hands coming up to fist in his own hair as he drew his knees towards his chest so he could bury his face in them. “Oh my _god.”_

Stiles’ heart was racing wildly in his chest, thundering away in his ears so loud it drowned out everything else except the too-fast, too-loud, too-harsh rasp of his own breathing as he frantically drew air into his lungs. Panic was clawing at his throat, sharp and painful. He could feel the throbbing at his temples and the base of his skull that tended to accompany the dual miseries of hyperventilation and the specific breed of overthinking known as catastrophizing. Unfortunately, panic attacks were something Stiles was _intimately_ familiar with.

Tears pricked at Stiles’ eyes and cursed himself as fifteen kinds of _stupid_ even as they spilled over, the first hitching sob breaking free from his throat and shuddering past his lips. _‘Stupid, stupid, **stupid.’**_ He chasized himself even as he tried to remember how to breathe properly; tried to recall the correct cadence to match his lungs to, so he would stop feeling dizzy and weak.

It took several long minutes, but - eventually - Stiles got his body back under his control. His mind was still churning out all of the downsides, of course. Listing off all of the worst-case scenarios and pointing out all of the ways in which Stiles was an absolute _moron_ for having allowed this to happen. Reminding him of how this had all started in the first place, and what it meant for how things were probably going to play out. Pointing out everything that could possibly go wrong, and a few extra possibilities besides. All of which was urging Stiles to do the smart thing. To walk away, before things got worse. To separate himself from the tangled mess of sleeping with a man who both desired and despised him.

Cursing himself as every kind of fool imaginable Stiles admitted the truth, if only to himself. He wouldn’t walk away, no matter how much it might hurt in the end. He _couldn't._

He was in love with Derek Hale.

~*~*~*~

Derek slipped out of Prince-of-Hale after the Pit Party, grateful he had about an hour before he had to take the truck out onto the floor again for the show itself. He loved his fans, and was grateful to everyone who not only came out to the shows but who also ponied up the extra money for the Pit Party Pass, to take pictures with the trucks and their drivers. Derek was immensely humbled every time some wide-eyed kid or grinning adult asked him for an autograph, snapping pictures with him with Prince-of-Hale in the background. It was amazing to him most days, that he got to do this thing he loved _so much_ and get paid for it. That people would fill a stadium or arena and cheer for him and his peers, who were just doing what they loved best.

He loved his fans, really. He just...needed to decompress a little after dealing with them, that was all. It was a lot, especially considering the issues he had with social situations. Derek knew he wasn’t a people person, unless he had a script to follow and a lot of time to practice. He had a resting bitch face that meant he had to actively work to keep from looking like he was contemplating murder any time a camera was on him or there were fans around. He tended to speak flatly unless he was deliberately forcing emotion and vocal upticks into his tone. He had a tendency to use the fewest words possible to convey the intended meaning, unless he was being forced to communicate in a more effusive manner for the sake of publicity or good manners.

And it was draining, okay.

So being able to take a half hour to _relax_ was a big deal. He could just be himself, without forcing smiles or words or anything else, when it was just him and the other drivers and the crews. He could stay in his little area, or wander over to talk to one of his friends, and no one would expect the sort of showmanship that was required for an audience. Derek cherished this time - this _break_ \- before he’d be back on camera, out in front of the crowd. Once he was on the arena floor for the duration of the show, the only time he’d be able to drop the act was the handful of minutes he’d personally spend behind the wheel of his truck. It was why he was so grateful that he never did more than five shows in a week - and that was _only_ if he was doing matinees two of the days in addition to the evening shows, which didn’t happen often - because Derek didn’t think he had the energy to maintain his public persona for more than three days out of the damn week.

It was fucking _exhausting._

As he approached the area cordoned off for HaleStorm, Derek had to admit that things with Stiles were pretty fucking exhausting, too.

In a good way, in the sense that they certainly did their best to wear each other out when they retired to one or the other of their hotel rooms at the end of the night after a shared show. But in a lot of _not-so-good_ ways, too.

Like how Stiles seemed to immediately slot into the world of monster trucks like he’d been born to it, the way Derek had, except it was _effortless_ for Stiles. _Everything_ about the circuit and the publicity seemed effortless for him. Stiles never seemed to worry if a camera was on him or not; was smiling and laughing and friendly and effusive and verbose _no matter what._ Seemed to make friends as easy as breathing, if the way all of Derek’s childhood friends seemed to now be _Stiles’_ friends, too, was anything to go by. Seemed to have slotted into Derek’s _family_ like he belonged there. The way Laura and Cora and Uncle Peter and _Derek’s parents_ all hugged him and teased him, an observer would have thought they’d known Stiles for their whole lives.

And it wasn’t that Derek wanted things to be hard for Stiles. Not _really._ It was just that Derek didn’t understand how it was _so easy_ for him. Because things like being around cameras and having to maintain a friendly public persona were things Derek had grown up around, and he _still_ struggled with them. But Stiles didn’t, and it wasn’t _fair._ It wasn’t fair that Stiles got to sit behind the wheel of the truck that Derek had always wanted to drive, moreso than he even wanted to drive the one he’d designed and built for himself. It wasn’t fair that Stiles could laugh and smile with fans like they were old friends while Derek had to remind himself to _breathe_ when it felt like the crowds were pressing in too close and there wasn’t enough air, even though he’d been dealing with this for _literally_ his whole life.

 _It wasn’t fair that Stiles was so beautiful it almost hurt to look at him,_ because Derek wasn’t allowed to claim the younger man as _his._ So people flirted, and Stiles flirted back in a way that _also_ seemed effortless and easy. And it wasn’t that Derek was _jealous,_ because...

...because...

_...dammit._

Derek deflated a little as he watched Erica drape herself against Stiles’ side, red-slicked lips parted around a laugh as her golden curls bounced. Stiles had his arm around Erica’s waist, a playful smirk on his full lips as he leaned in and murmured something in her ear. Erica laughed again and Derek curled his hands into fists, nails biting into his own palms as his shoulders tensed with displeasure. _He_ wanted to be the one snuggled into Stiles’ side. Wanted the younger man in his arms, resting casually against him like it was nothing. Except that wasn’t allowed. Public affection was a line they weren’t allowed to cross, because their relationship - tangled, fucked-up mess that it was - wasn’t allowed to be known. Derek hadn't even told his _sisters._

And the worst part was, _Derek_ was the one who’d drawn the damn lines. _He_ was the one who’d made it clear to Stiles that this thing between them - whatever the hell it was - was private. As in, not to be shared with anyone. As in, a _secret._ So how could he take that back now? And for what? For _jealousy?_ As though it wasn’t bad enough that Stiles knew Derek was jealous of his position as HaleStorm’s driver, Derek was now supposed to admit he was jealous of everyone who got to touch Stiles in public, too?

_No, thank you._

So when Stiles looked up and caught his eye, a teasing little smile curving his lips and one eyebrow raised as though _daring_ Derek to come and join him, Derek sneered and snapped. “Guess this is why it’s so easy for me to crush you in the arena, Stilinski. You’re too busy socializing to focus properly.”

Stiles’ eyes darkened, something strange flickering over his face. And Derek had noticed that look more and more recently, whenever he made a snide remark and he would have worried he was hurting Stiles’ feelings, but this...this was the arrangement, wasn’t it? This was what they had _agreed to._ Stiles knew Derek wouldn’t - _couldn't_ \- show him softness or affection around other people. And Derek was careful to never show anything more than a joking, friendly sort of rivalry to the cameras, just like Stiles had insisted on. So it wasn’t possible that Stiles was suddenly upset about the things Derek was saying.

...was it?

Derek had to admit, he wasn’t good at reading people. But Stiles had been so open and honest about his boundaries and feelings - right from the start - that Derek had to assume Stiles would _tell him_ if something had changed. It didn’t matter to Derek if things had changed for _him,_ because he knew he wasn’t going to admit that. Wasn’t going to just open his mouth and pour out his feelings, giving Stiles all of the power. He didn’t know _how_ to make himself vulnerable that way; that simply wasn’t who Derek _was._ So he bit his tongue on the apology that wanted to slip out and stalked away before Stiles could say anything at all.

If Stiles had something to say - if he wanted to change the rules - he could damn well tell Derek. He wasn’t a mind reader, after all. And _he_ wasn’t bringing it up, no matter how many times Stiles gave him that wounded, doe-eyed look. They had an _agreement,_ dammit, and if Stiles had decided he didn’t like the way things were then he should _say something._

Derek pointedly ignored the voice in his head that chided, _‘You don’t like how things are, either.’_ That was definitely _not_ the point.

~*~*~*~

Stiles watched Derek walk away, frustration rising in his chest like bile, all sickly sweet and burning. He wanted to call after the older man. He wanted to follow Derek and _shake him_ and demand to know what the hell was going on in that _clearly insane_ brain of his. Because Stiles didn’t understand how someone could sneer such hateful things at him in public...and then touch him like he was the most precious thing in the world the moment they were alone.

He’d been an idiot, obviously, thinking he could handle this. Because the thing was, Stiles was pretty sure he couldn't. He was pretty sure it was driving him _insane._ They’d been doing this - whatever the hell _this_ was - for two months...not including the first weekend they’d met, or the two weeks between that weekend and when they’d finally talked it all out. Two months, as Stiles counted it, since that fateful conversation when he’d promised Derek he could handle things. Promised he didn’t care if Derek was an asshole to him, provided there were no cameras around. And, of course, provided he didn’t bring their sex lives into the work-fighting.

Except Stiles had been wrong. He _hated_ the way Derek sneered at him before shows. He _hated_ the awful things Derek said. He _hated_ that Derek didn’t seem to have a single drop of respect or admiration for the time and effort and skill that went into Stiles’ driving. Because Stiles was _damn good_ at what he did but it was _never_ good enough for Derek. If anything, it seemed like the better Stiles did the more Derek hated him for it. And Stiles understood resentment when he saw it, obviously. He understood that Derek was venting his own frustrations regarding HaleStorm and what he considered his legacy - his inheritance, in a manner of speaking - in the only way he knew how.

Stiles just _really_ wished Derek would figure out another way to do so, because this was going to be the death of him.

He honestly wasn’t sure how much longer he could go on like this. Derek’s words were like knives, cutting into the tenderest, most vulnerable parts of Stiles. And the way Derek worshiped his body in private - the way he slowly took Stiles apart with pleasure - was like salt in every one of those wounds. The worst part was, Derek didn’t seem to have a clue how he felt. Stiles didn’t understand that, either. He didn’t understand how Derek couldn't see that Stiles loved him; that Stiles would have done _anything_ for him at this point.

If he was being honest about it, Stiles was pretty sure that if Derek had just asked him - _really_ asked him, mind you - to quit, that Stiles would have. And if he thought, for even one second, that quitting would make Derek love him, Stiles would have done it _without_ being asked. But whenever he considered the possibility - when Derek was holding him close and murmuring sweet words against his skin and Stiles wondered if maybe Derek would be like that _all the time_ if only Stiles _wasn’t_ driving HaleStorm - Stiles got this sick, squirming feeling in his gut that told him that wouldn’t be the case. That quitting - leaving Derek’s family in a lurch, for whatever reason - would be the _worst_ sort of betrayal in Derek’s eyes. Moreso than driving HaleStorm, even.

So Stiles bit his tongue and didn’t offer, because he couldn't stand the thought of breaking this apart more than it already was. It was killing him, yes, but losing it would be worse. And it was true that Stiles knew it was only a matter of time, because he _couldn't_ go on like this forever, but he was going to keep what he could for as long as possible, no matter how much it hurt.

~*~*~*~

Derek was pacing in his team’s pit-area, because he was supposed to be up next in the freestyle but he’d managed to damage Prince-of-Hale’s axel during the two-wheeled trick round. Boyd was working to fix it as fast as he could, and Derek was fairly certain he’d be able to go out _on time,_ rather than being pushed to last out of all the freestyles, which was the goal. He wasn’t pacing because of that. He was pacing because Stiles was doing his freestyle right now and Derek didn’t like that he wasn’t able to watch. He tried to tell himself it was because of HaleStorm; he liked keeping an eye on his family’s truck; his _dad’s_ truck. But the truth was, he wanted to keep an eye on _Stiles._ As he grew more confident behind the wheel, Stiles had gotten increasingly daring with both his tricks and his freestyles. It was nerve-wracking.

Suddenly he could hear the crowd going insane. And the thing was, that wasn’t abnormal in the usual course of things. But Derek had been listening to cheering crowds his whole life and this...this sounded bad. This wasn’t the kind of cheering that meant a crowd was fired up. There was something about the sound. A note or an edge or the cadence - Derek wasn’t sure he could have quantified it even if he wanted to, honestly - that told him something was _wrong._

Derek didn’t hesitate. He took off running, ignoring his crew when they tried to stop him; tried to ask what was wrong. Because Derek didn’t _know_ what was wrong. He just knew it was bad.

He skidded onto the dirt floor of the arena, just inside the opening he would - hopefully - drive his truck through in another couple of minutes. His heart leapt into his throat, choking him. Derek couldn't _breathe._ Because HaleStorm was upside down, and it was on fire. And that was fine; that was a sight Derek had seen more times than he cared to count while his own father was inside the damn thing, or one of his sisters. Hell, _he_ had been inside of a flaming truck on more than one occasion. It was just a part of the job.

Except Stiles wasn’t getting out. He could _see_ Stiles from where he was, flailing around inside HaleStorm’s cab. There were safety officials trying to put out the fire, and another one who was actually climbing _into_ the truck. And there was only _one reason_ a safety official would climb into a flaming vehicle, which was why Derek was pretty sure his heart had stopped the moment he’d seen the man in his neon-bright vest reaching through the window.

_Stiles was trapped._

Derek watched, feeling frozen in place, as the safety official did something before shimmying back out of the truck. And Derek took his first breath in what felt like _forever_ \- though it hadn't been more than a minute since he’d reached the arena floor - when Stiles crawled out after him. He followed the official a few feet away from HaleStorm as others continued putting out the fire, then peeled off his helmet. He raked a hand through sweat-damp hair, making it spike up wildly. The camera that was projecting onto the giant screen caught the somber look on Stiles’ face as he spoke to the official, nodding and looking more serious than Derek had ever seen him.

A moment later he seemed to notice the camera and smiled widely, waving cheerfully at the crowd and blowing them a kiss, silently telling them he was okay even as he followed the safety official across the arena floor and through a different exit.

And Derek knew he needed to go back to Prince-of-Hale, because he’d be expected on the arena floor as soon as they got HaleStorm towed out of the way. But Derek _also_ knew that they’d take Stiles to see a medic and, as soon he was cleared, they’d have him give a quick on-screen interview with Kira and Finstock, to reassure the fans that he was unharmed. With his heart still racing wildly in his chest - his anxiety like a living thing clawing at his insides in a way that Derek _knew_ wouldn’t stop until he’d affirmed for himself that Stiles was okay - Derek made his choice.

~*~*~*~

Stiles walked up to Kira and Finstock, grinning a little sheepishly as Kira signalled to let him know that they’d turned on the mini-mic someone had wired him with a minute ago before sending him over to the announcers. He could see them towing HaleStorm off the arena floor below and knew Derek would be coming out in Prince-of-Hale just as soon as Stiles’ little reassurance-interview was done, assuming the truck was fixed in time. But he couldn't focus on that; needed to keep his mind on the announcers who were talking to him about what had just happened.

“This is the first serious incident you’ve had since you started driving HaleStorm.” Kira said, eyes wide and voice laced with concern. “Is it making you reevaluate things?”

“Of course not.” Stiles said, smiling easily even as he shook his head. “I knew the risks when I signed on to drive HaleStorm. And even when I was doing local mud runs back in my hometown, I always ran the risk of crashing. Accidents happen. It’s a part of the job. We have protective gear and safety officials and procedures in place for a reason. The whole team did their job tonight and, as you can see, I’m no worse for it. I love what I’m doing and I’m not about to get scared off.”

“So, what exactly happened?” Finstock asked, eyes a little wild. But then, they usually were. “I mean, most folks catch their truck on fire and they’re scrambling out as quick as they can. Why didn’t you?”

“My harness jammed.” Stiles admitted, because he didn’t see the point in lying about it. “And it’s definitely something my crew chief is going to review, to ensure it doesn’t happen again.”

Kira sucked in a stunned breath, then said sympathetically. “Wow, that must have been terrifying.”

Stiles laughed, still grinning as he answered. “I mean, I’m not gonna lie and say it _wasn’t_ because it absolutely was, but that’s okay. A lot of what happens when I’m behind the wheel is this crazy mix of fear and exhilaration. It’s part of what I love about it, you know? The adrenaline rush. And I have absolute faith in my crew, and in the safety officials. I wear protective gear for a reason.” He stroked his hands down over the front of his fire-suit before adding. “I knew they’d get me out, which they did.”

“Well, I thi-” Kira cut herself off with a choked little gasp, eyes widening as she looked over Stiles’ shoulder at something, then breathed out a shocked exclamation. “Oh my _god.”_

“What the heck are you doing over here, Hale?” Finstock barked, brow furrowed. “Pretty sure you’re meant to be getting ready to do your freestyle, not crashing Stilinski’s interview.”

Stiles whirled around, painfully aware of the camera on them as he struggled to keep the shock and concern off his face. Derek looked...wild. _Unhinged._ His hair was in disarray and his grey-green eyes were bright and a bit manic, boring into Stiles with an intensity that was unnerving.

“D-derek...” Stiles breathed, wincing when his mic picked it up. Struggling to recover from that, he cleared his throat and asked. “What’s wrong?”

“What’s wrong?” Derek snarled, and he’d stepped in close to Stiles between one heartbeat and the next, his hands closing like vices around Stiles’ upper arms. He was well into Stiles’ personal space; close enough that the mic picked it up when he spoke again. “What’s _wrong?_ You...you could have _died,_ and I...I was...I-”

Stiles opened his mouth, planning to reassure Derek that he was fine. Before he could, Derek’s mouth was covering his and Stiles was being kissed so hard and desperate that it made his mind go blank. Without thinking, he wound his arms around Derek’s neck and clung to the older man, kissing him back with everything he had. The sound of the crowd _losing their shit_ was slow to filter in, but when it did Stiles remembered the camera and the audience. He drew back, blinking wide amber eyes at Derek, terrified of the moment Derek realized what he’d just done.

But Derek just leaned in and rested his forehead against Stiles’, his arms around Stiles’ waist as he held him snugly against his body and murmured. “Don’t you _ever_ scare me like that again. I don’t know what I’d do if I lost you.”

“D-derek, I-”

Stiles cut himself off, not sure what to say or do.

Derek drew back enough to meet his eyes properly and murmured softly. “Stiles, I love you.” And the words echoed in the air around them, picked up by Stiles’ microphone and projected through the speakers for _everyone_ to hear.

So Stiles did the only thing he _could_ do. He brushed his mouth softly against Derek’s, all tenderness and warmth, then offered the words back. “I love you, too.”

“Well, then.” Kira said, voice full of cheer and the smile on her face looking a little strained even as she tried to keep things upbeat. “I think we can safely say Derek Hale inherited his father’s flare for public romance. I’m sure long-term fans remember Dominic’s public proposal to Talia, after all. Have the two of you been together long?”

“Almost three months.” Derek offered, making sure he stayed close enough to Stiles for Stiles’ mic to pick up the words. “We hadn't planned on making it public yet, but with what happened I just...I couldn't wait until after the show to check on him. I _had_ to know he was okay. I couldn't imagine _waiting_ to reassure myself that he was fine. To kiss him, and tell him I love him. It had to be now.”

“Understandable.” Kira agreed, her face smoothing into softer lines as she seemed to melt a little over Derek’s soft but earnest words. “You said _almost_ three months. Are you planning anything special for that anniversary, then?”

Derek blushed, ducking his head a little. “Maybe.” He said, offering nothing else.

And Stiles was still a little hung up on the timeline Derek was offering, because it meant that Derek was counting from the day they’d met. Which was a full two weeks longer than _Stiles_ had been counting in his own head. And he really didn’t know what to think about any of it, honestly. His head was still spinning from that kiss, and the public nature of Derek’s declaration of love, and possibly because he was crashing after the adrenaline rush from the _actual_ crash he’d been in. It was a lot to take in.

Before he could think of some way to excuse himself, Derek added. “Anyway, I need to get back to Prince-of-Hale, as I still have my own freestyle to do. And I’m sure Stiles wants to check in with his crew chief and all.”

“Of course, of course.” Kira laughed, waving them off even as she turned back to face the camera. “Well, Monster Slam fans, you heard it here first! Derek Hale - a legacy driver we’ve all known and adored for years - seems to be officially off the market. And who could possibly be better for our resident Prince-of-Hale driver than the newest driver of his own father’s truck, Stiles Stilinski? I’m sure we’ll be seeing more of this romance as it unfolds, just as fans watched Derek’s parents’ courtship unfold over the course of a Monster Slam season. Those Hales certainly know how to deliver, both on the arena floor and off of it!”

Stiles let Derek lead him away, back towards the crew areas. He felt numb. Like his whole head was filled with static and white noise. Because Stiles knew _he_ had meant the words he’d said on camera just now, but he was suddenly terrified that Derek _hadn't._

And if Derek took them back, Stiles didn’t think he’d survive.

~*~*~*~

Derek hated leaving Stiles, because it was clear the younger man was in shock, but he _had_ to go and finish up the show. So he pressed a soft kiss to Stiles’ mouth and promised softly. “I’ll be right back, okay? As soon as I finish my freestyle, I’ll be back. I’ll take you back to the hotel and you can take a hot bath and relax and eat something and get some sleep. You’ll feel better in the morning. Just...sit right here until I come back, okay?”

He nudged Stiles down onto a folding chair, pressing another kiss to Stiles’ hair. “I’ll be as quick as I can, I promise.”

As he walked away from Stiles, Derek gestured for one of HaleStorm’s crew to come over, issuing orders as soon as the man was close enough. “Keep an eye on Stiles. He’s a little shaken, obviously. I’ll be back as soon as I finish out my freestyle. Don’t let him walk around or wander off. Get him some water and keep him here until I can come back and take care of him.”

The man was smart enough to just nod and move towards Stiles, no questions asked. HaleStorm’s crew knew who their bosses were, after all. That included Derek, regardless of him having his own truck; his own crew.

Knowing he needed to focus, Derek hurried back towards Prince-of-Hale. He just wanted tonight’s show to be over. He wanted to be alone with Stiles, so he could _properly_ reassure himself that his lover was okay. And Derek knew he’d need to deal with the fallout of his public declaration at some point - both the public reaction as well as his family’s response - but that was a worry for tomorrow at the earliest. For tonight, all Derek cared about was Stiles. Nothing and no one else mattered.

Because Derek had meant every word he’d said in front of the camera. He loved Stiles. Everything else would take care of itself.

~*~*~*~

Being loved by Derek Hale was something of a novelty. All of those dimpled smiles he gave to fans were now being directed _at Stiles,_ only they reached his eyes when he aimed them at Stiles. He touched Stiles constantly, too. And Stiles - who had always been a tactile creature by nature - found himself blossoming under the constant attention. It was like he and Derek were magnetized; the moment they got close enough, they were drawn together. Stiles would drape himself over Derek’s back, or lean back against the other man when he was tired so Derek could take some of his weight. The weight of Derek’s arm around his waist and the heat of Derek’s hand tangled with his own were things he’d grown used to in the two weeks since Derek had made their relationship public.

And it was, it seemed, a relationship. A _real_ one, as opposed to something made up of lust and convenience and annoyance. Derek’s passion was monster trucks, but he also liked comic books and basketball and both fantasy and science fiction though he was more of a _novel_ kind of guy than a _movie/tv show_ kind. They had taken to traveling together as much as their schedules allowed, which wasn’t hard since they were doing a lot of the same shows, which meant they shared meals and hotel rooms. Derek would sometimes read to him, voice low and soothing as Stiles closed his eyes and absorbed, letting his mind paint them into pictures as he reveled in the contentment that came from knowing Derek wanted to share something he loved with Stiles.

Stiles was amazed at the change that had overcome Derek. A Derek who wasn’t hiding - who was now open about his feelings for Stiles - was an entirely different person. Warm, and affectionate. A little shy, if Stiles was being honest, though still outrageously passionate when things got physical. Stiles knew he was walking around most of the time with a stupid, lovesick grin on his face and he honestly couldn't have been happier. Not even their families’ reactions had dimmed his joy.

He’d endured the screaming and ranting phone call from Cora with grace, apologizing repeatedly until she’d calmed down and stopped shouting about _assholes who keep secrets_ and congratulated him on breaking through all of the walls Derek put up around himself. Laura had personally dropped by one of their shows, for the express purpose of punching her twin brother as hard as she could, yelling something in a language Stiles had never heard. Later, Derek admitted it was a language he and Laura had made up when they were little. He also admitted his twin had been yelling at him because they had never kept so much as a _crush_ from each other before this, and he acknowledged that she had good reason to be pissed off. He would have been furious as well, had their positions been reversed.

Talia and Dominic had done a video chat with them, the morning after _The Incident,_ as everyone had taken to calling it. It had been a mix of Talia sternly chastising them for making any sort of statement for the press while Dominic pointed out - over and over - that Derek’s whole life had been lived in front of the cameras and it was hardly surprising that this would do the same. And, after all, hadn't their own romance played out in front of the cameras as well, long before Derek was even a twinkle in Talia’s eye? Talia had eventually relented, though she’d also chastised them for not telling their family sooner.

And that was how she said it, too. _Their_ family. As though Derek’s family was automatically Stiles’ family as well. As though they were already firmly a unit in everyone’s minds.

Stiles...honestly didn’t know what to do with that.

So he’d pushed it out of his mind, softly admitting to his dad when asked that he had no idea how serious things were with Derek. And his dad was supportive, and understanding, just like always. Stiles knew he’d lucked out, having the dad he did. They had a good, solid relationship and Stiles knew that, no matter what, his dad would _always_ be there for him. Thankfully his dad didn’t follow the monster truck circuit, despite his son’s newfound career, so Stiles had been able to tell him personally about his new relationship, before his dad saw it on social media or in a tabloid or something.

Small favors and all that.

And now here they were, two weeks into things being public. _Two weeks._ Which was to say, they were about three months into the relationship as a whole, and now Derek was talking about them going out for a nice dinner, to celebrate the milestone.

It was... _amazing,_ honestly. It was everything Stiles could have hoped for. The shining possibility of a future with this sweet, charming, gorgeous man was spread out in front of Stiles like the best sort of daydream come to life. Stiles had his dream job, and now he had his dream _guy,_ and everything seemed to be slotting perfectly into place. All of which meant that Stiles was walking around with near-crippling anxiety, in addition to the lovestruck grin.

Hence why Stiles was pacing next to HaleStorm - already changed into a deep red suit complete with waistcoat, paired with a slate blue shirt and black dress shoes - waiting with mounting panic for Derek to join him. They’d just finished their Friday night show and had a reservation at some upscale place in New York City that Derek had chosen on a recommendation from Laura. And yeah, on the one hand, Stiles was kind of weirdly excited to be going to some fancy ass restaurant in NYC, because the shows this weekend were the first time he’d ever been this far east and it was kind of really cool. But, on the other hand, Stiles absolutely _was not_ a fancy restaurant kind of guy and he was more than a little worried he was going to spill something or use the wrong fork or knock over a table. You know, something horrifyingly awkward and embarrassing, that would surely make it clear to Derek that he deserved someone better.

Stiles kind of hated that he felt that way, mind you, because he worked really hard to maintain a positive self-image and he knew that - objectively speaking - he wasn’t a bad catch. But the combination of the way things had started between them, and the way Derek had treated him for the first couple of months they were together, and Stiles’ own latent insecurities was making him question _everything._

“Well, don’t you just look good enough to eat?”

Stiles looked up, meeting Peter Hale’s eyes and feeling his pulse leap wildly at the heated look the Halestrom driver was giving him. “Uh...th-thanks?” He stammered, shifting a little uncomfortably at how _intense_ Peter’s gaze was. “I’m just...waiting for Derek. I-it’s our anniversary, so.”

Aaand...now Stiles was babbling, as he tended to do when anxious. _Lovely._

But Peter was smiling. “Yes, I’m aware. Derek is rather _effusive_ when it comes to you, did you know? You seem to be his favorite subject these days, as he so rarely speaks of anything else. And this romantic evening he has planned has been droned on about pretty much constantly for the last week.”

Stiles' cheeks warmed and he flicked his eyes away. “Yeah, well.” He made himself look back at Peter, chin raising stubbornly as he said. “Three months is the longest either of us has ever been with one person, so it seemed worth celebrating.”

Peter’s lips twitched down, something dark passing over his face as he moved closer to Stiles. “Is that what my dear nephew told you? That you’re the first person he’s been with for this long?” Mock-sympathy laced Peter’s words. “Poor, naive Stiles. But then, I suppose we believe what we hope is true.”

Stiles clenched his hands into fists, drawing himself up to his full height, which made him just _slightly_ taller than Peter. He narrowed his eyes and snapped. “What are you trying to accomplish, Peter? If you think I’m going to let you drive a wedge between Derek and I, you’re in for a nasty surprise. So I don’t know what kind of game you’re trying to play - or what you think you’re going to gain from this - but I am _not_ interested in playing it with you. Go away.”

“If that’s what you want.” Peter murmured, stepping back and shrugging at the same time. Tone and expression soft and oddly sincere, he added. “And no games, Stiles. I’ve just never been a fan of dishonesty in relationships. I don’t know why Derek would lie about his dating history, but you have a right to know the truth. If you don’t believe me, ask his sisters.”

Stiles watched Peter walk away, chewing on his lower lip. He didn’t want to believe Peter. More than that, he wanted to trust Derek. To believe that the other man wouldn’t lie to him. But before Peter was even out of sight, Stiles had pulled out his phone and was texting Cora. _**Hey, question. What’s the longest relationship Derek’s ever had?**_

Before Cora answered, Derek was approaching. Stiles hastily shoved his phone back in his pocket, forcing a grin onto his face. “He-eeeeey.” He tipped his face up to accept the kiss he knew Derek would give him, then asked. “Ready to go?”

“Absolutely.” Derek murmured, kissing him again, soft and sweet. “You look gorgeous, by the way.” He settled his hands on Stiles’ hips, pulling him in close before whispering in his ear. “All I’m going to be able to think about during dinner is stripping you out of that suit.”

Stiles laughed, low and breathless, then said. “Yeah, well. I could say the same.” And it wasn’t a lie, because Derek - in his charcoal grey suit, black button up, and red-and-black striped tie - looked good enough to eat.

With something anxious and miserable fluttering away in his belly, Stiles asked softly. “You want to skip the main course and go right for dessert?”

“Mmmm...tempting.” Derek drew back, giving him that dimpled, Disney-prince smile. “But it’s our anniversary and I want to do this right. Dinner first, _then_ dessert.”

“Right. Of course.” Stiles made his lips curve up, knowing it was expected. “Shall we?”

Derek, in true gentlemanly fashion, offered his arm to Stiles. As Stiles curled his fingers around the crook of Derek’s elbow, letting the man lead him towards where a car was waiting to take them to the restaurant, Stiles felt his phone vibrate in his pocket. Part of him itched to pull it out - to see if it was Cora answering him - but he didn’t want to risk Derek seeing. Because if Peter was lying - playing some sick, twisted game for his own amusement - then Stiles didn’t want it to cause a fight. Better to wait; to read the message later, when he was alone. Just in case.

Stiles was determined to enjoy his romantic evening with his lover. His _boyfriend,_ though that word sounded juvenile even in his own head and Stiles had yet to say it out loud to anyone other than his dad, and he’d only said it to _him_ because he couldn't bring himself to call someone his _lover_ when speaking to his dad. True, Stiles was an adult and he was sure his dad was aware that he had sex - Noah was a sheriff, after all, and had the ability to use deductive reasonsing - but that didn’t mean he needed to _announce_ that he was having sex. And really, Stiles was mostly trying to distract himself from the increasingly pressing need to pull out his phone and check to see what Cora might have said, because it had buzzed a few more times and it was driving Stiles _insane._ The not-knowing was surely the worst part. Nothing Cora might have said could _possibly_ be worse than just... _not knowing._

Right?

But Stiles couldn't be sure of that. Not really. So he left his phone in his pocket and shoved all of his anxiety and worries and fears into a corner of his mind reserved specifically for that sort of thing. Then Stiles very firmly ordered himself to enjoy his damn date.

~*~*~*~

“I love you.” Derek murmured, pressing his lips along the curve of Stiles’ shoulder as he slowly rocked his hips, leisurely fucking into Stiles, their bodies spooned together on the large hotel bed. “My sweet, beautiful, talented Stiles...”

Stiles’ breath hitched in his chest as Derek’s hand slid down, fingers teasing along the trail of hair below Stiles’ navel until he could curl them around Stiles’ cock. “D-derek...” He gasped, pressing back into the heat and strength of the man behind him, letting his head tip to one side as Derek’s mouth nipped and licked its way up the side of his throat. “Please... _p-please,_ I... _so_ close...”

“Shhh.” Derek soothed, his tongue following the curve of Stiles’ ear as his hips maintained the maddeningly slow rhythm he’d chosen. “Just let it happen, baby. Sink into it.”

He felt it as Stiles relaxed against him, his whole body trembling as he gave himself over to the languorous pleasure. “Good boy.” Derek whispered, teeth closing lightly on Stiles’ earlobe for a moment before he scraped his teeth over the tender spot just behind Stiles’ ear. “That’s it, Stiles. Give me everything and I’ll make sure you feel good.”

Stiles shuddered in his arms and Derek rewarded him for his complacency by stroking his cock, matching the movements of his hands to the slow roll of his hips. So often with Stiles everything was hurried, even when it didn’t have to be. So often it felt like a race to the finish. And part of that was on Derek, who found himself almost irrepressibly greedy when it came to Stiles. The gentlest touch, the softest kiss...they turned heated and frantic between one heartbeat and the next and all of Derek’s control would disappear, like early morning fog burned off by the heat of the rising sun.

Most days, all of Derek’s best intentions about going slow and savoring things - memorizing every inch of Stiles’ body and making things last as long as possible - fell by the wayside the second he had Stiles under him, eager and enthusiastic. _Not tonight._

Tonight, Derek was taking his time. Going slow. He had eased both of them up to the edge and now he was keeping them poised there, balanced between exquisite pleasure and shattering release. It was maddening, but worth it for the way Stiles sobbed out his name and trembled against him, oversensitive and begging for relief.

When Derek finally gave it to him - to them both - Stiles came with a broken scream that choked itself into a sob. Derek gentled him through it, with soft touches and murmured praise. Words of love pressed to sweat-slicked skin and long, smooth sweeps of his palm over Stiles’ flank, as though soothing a skittish horse. His lips curved in amusement at his own silent comparison, for Stiles’ long-legged awkward grace _was_ distinctly coltish but he knew instinctively that Stiles would bristle up at the comparison. In that way, he was more like a cat. He presented a friendly demeanor towards the world, but Derek had learned these last couple of weeks that Stiles was a prickly and disagreeable creature at times. Perverse thing that _Derek_ was, he found it oddly endearing.

Still, he liked Stiles the way he was in this moment. Soft, and agreeable, and all but purring beneath Derek’s touch. Warm, and sleepy, and sated. And because he liked it so much, Derek found himself nuzzling into the back of Stiles’ neck, winding himself more fully around Stiles’ lanky form as he let his bliss-soaked brain drift into the hazy place between waking and dreams, more content than he could ever remember being.

~*~*~*~

Stiles woke a few hours after passing out and stumbled, still groggy, towards the bathroom to relieve his bladder. He half-expected Derek to be awake when he finished up, but he made it back to the bed to find Derek still asleep. A small, smug smile crept onto his face at the proof of just how thoroughly he’d managed to wear Derek out. He slid back into bed, but - before settling himself back in Derek’s arms - he picked up his phone off the bedside table.

He unlocked the screen, still not properly awake and planning to check if his dad had texted him at all, or if his best friend Scott had. What he saw instead was several messages from Cora, at which point his sleep-fogged brain remembered the question he’d asked her earlier. Sitting up straighter - and casting a quick, nervous glance at the still-sleeping Derek - Stiles thumbed open the message feed.

**Corie - _shouldn’t you be asking my brother that?_**

**Corie - _but also, I don’t know the exact length of it but it would’ve been Paige_**

**Corie - _they were together for_**

**Corie - _christ I don’t even know. a year? a year and a half? I don’t remember_**

**Corie - _why?_**

Stiles felt like he was going to be sick. Peter had been telling the truth. Which meant, of course, that _Derek_ had been lying to him. Struggling to ignore the way tears were stinging his eyes, Stiles hastily typed out a reply. _**Just curious.**_

He was debating saying more when Derek suddenly stretched beside him, making a sleepy and contented sound as he did so. “Mmmm...who’re you texting?” He murmured, turning onto his side and curling his body towards Stiles, face soft and open as he smiled slightly at Stiles.

And all of a sudden, the hurt that had been welling in Stiles’ chest iced over into fury. Voice whisper-soft and terribly cold, Stiles asked. “Who’s Paige?”

Derek went still for a moment, then his brows pulled together in confusion as he answered. “Uh, an ex-girlfriend of mine. Where’d you hear her name?”

“Does it matter?” Stiles asked, and now his words came out brittle and sharp. “You _lied to me._ ”

Derek’s eyebrows lowered further and he pushed himself to sitting, giving Stiles a look that was a mix of confusion and wariness. “When did I lie? And about what?”

“When we talked about our anniversary.” Stiles hissed back, refusing to let this slide. Refusing to pretend it didn’t hurt, knowing Derek had felt the need to lie about something Stiles wouldn’t have even cared about, one way or the other. “You said you’d never been with anyone else for this long. You fucking-”

“No I didn’t.”

Stiles’ words came up short at the abrupt interruption and he just gaped at Derek for a moment. Then, he tensed, because _hell no,_ he was _not_ going to sit here and be gaslighted. He knew _damn well_ what he’d been told, thank you _very_ fucking much.

Riding high on the fury of the whole thing, Stiles snapped. “Yes, you _did._ You _absolutely_ said that. We were talking, and I said you were the first person I’d ever had a serious, long-term thing with, and _you_ said-”

“I said I’d never had a serious relationship, either.” Derek agreed, nodding slowly. “And that’s absolutely true. I never said anything about the length of anything, though. I didn’t realize you’d taken it that way or I would’ve corrected you.”

For a moment, Stiles floundered. “B-but...” He hesitated, trying to make the contradictions line up in a way that made sense. When he couldn't, he gave up and demanded. “How the hell were you with someone for more than a year without it being serious?”

“Because we were _fifteen.”_ Derek explained, rolling his eyes. “Mom wanted Laura and I to have a normal high school experience, at least for a little while, and thought maybe Cora would benefit from a little more peer-socializing, too. She figured we’d try it out for a year, rather than the homeschooling we’d done before then, and see how it went. But all of us missed being able to follow Dad around on the circuit so we left it at just the year. I met Paige during that time and we dated.”

Derek shrugged one shoulder as he added. “We tried to keep it up when Mom had us all back on the circuit, but long-distance is hard on adults let alone teens. We weren’t equipped to handle it. And, honestly, we weren’t really interested in trying that hard, beyond us both being a little caught up on the _idea_ of it. The supposed romance of it, I guess you could say.”

“W-uh...but...” Stiles really _was_ floundering now, feeling wrongfooted and uneasy with how far off the mark he’d apparently been. About _everything_. Struggling to recover, he asked. “Okay, so. Is that...is that the only longer relationship you’ve had or...or were there others? Since you don’t equate length with seriousness, I just...I don’t know what I even know anymore.”

“Because they’re _not_ the same.” Derek said, an edge of frustration creeping into his tone. “I don’t sort my relationships based on how long they lasted and then claim that shows which ones are the most important or significant. This - with you - might not be the longest relationship I’ve ever had, but it’s definitely the most serious I’ve ever been about someone.”

Stiles fisted his hands in his hair, because he just...he didn’t _understand_ Derek, and it was becoming more and more clear with every passing day just how devastatingly true that fact was. As much as Laura and Derek had their own twin language, _Derek_ seemed to have a language all his own. His family seemed to understand him just fine, and some of the other drivers that were also legacies seemed to understand him as well. But Stiles? Stiles was struggling.

Because Derek would say something and Stiles would think he understood it, only to find out he’d gotten it all wrong. And this...this was a prime example of that. This was Stiles believing one thing when Derek had been telling him something completely different. And he didn’t know what to do about it, short of constantly double-checking every single thing Derek said to ensure he’d understood it correctly. And that honestly sounded like it would become both exhausting and annoying very quickly.

He didn’t know how to become fluent in Derek-speak, either. Didn’t know how to pick up on whatever everyone else around him seemed to _know,_ just by looking at him. The way he could have almost entire conversations with only a handful of words spoken. Stiles...Stiles talked _constantly._ He was the sort who ran at the mouth because he hated when silences stretched out around him and he wasn’t sure how to deal with the fact that Derek was basically his polar opposite on that front.

Things were fine when they were having sex, of course. And they were okay when there were others around to help facilitate conversation. But Stiles worried about what would happen the longer they were together - the more time they spent with just the two of them - because what if he _couldn't_ learn Derek’s non-language? He didn’t know if their relationship could survive continual miscommunications and misunderstandings. He didn’t know if _any_ relationship would be able to hold up to that kind of strain, honestly.

“Hey...are we okay?” Derek asked softly, and Stiles realized he’d been silent for a while, thinking about all of the ways this could go wrong. All of the ways it could end.

Stiles licked his lips nervously, then looked over at Derek. At those gorgeous, multi-colored eyes and the hopeful look in them. At that tentative, dimpled smile with its ridiculous bunny teeth. At the faint tension lacing that well-muscled body, stitching it into uneasy lines of worry and nerves. And Stiles’ heart did one long, slow roll in his chest and Stiles knew that _if_ this went south, it wouldn’t be for lack of trying to make it work. He didn’t care how hard it was, or how complicated things had gotten, or if it took him _years_ to finally understand the silent communication Derek used so much of and all of the things left unsaid that Stiles was somehow expected to just _know._

Derek Hale was worth the effort.

His face softened and he reached out, cupping that beautiful face in both hands and leaning in to brush his lips softly against Derek’s own. “We’re good.” He promised softly, and he meant it. And they would _stay_ good. Stiles wouldn’t allow anything else.

~*~*~*~

Derek watched Stiles talking to Laura, a look of extreme concentration on his lover’s face as he spoke rapidly while gesturing with both hands, talking with his whole body the way he always did. Laura seemed a bit bemused, but there was something soft and fond about her expression as she nodded along with whatever Stiles was saying. It seemed like an oddly intense conversation for a backyard barbeque and Derek wondered what they were talking about, though he knew he wouldn’t ask.

He narrowed his eyes, though, as he thought about it. Then Cora laughed from beside him, drawing his attention. “What.” He said, not impressed by her amusement as it was so often at his expense.

“They’re talking about _you.”_ Cora said, answering the question he hadn't voiced. When he flicked his eyes away, Cora sighed and reached out, squeezing his hand softly. “Not in a bad way, Der-bear. For the last couple of weeks, Stiles has been asking everyone for lessons in _Derek-speak,_ as he calls it. It’s really sweet, actually.”

“Derek-speak.”

“Yeah.” Cora bumped him lightly with her shoulder. “You know how you are, Der. No point in sugarcoating it at this juncture, is there? Those of us who are close to you get it. We know it’s because of your anxiety, and we’ve learned to read your body more than we listen to the limited words you use. And I think it’s great that Stiles is making this active effort to do the same. It really says a lot about how much he loves you that instead of trying to change you and how you interact with the world, he wants to learn to speak your language.”

Something in Derek’s chest - something he hadn't even realized was knotted up - sort of loosened at her words. His family and long-time friends knew about his anxiety and they understood it as well as anyone who didn’t _have it_ possibly could. They made allowances for him, he knew, because they were supportive and they loved him. He’d told Stiles about his anxiety, of course, because there wasn’t any real way to hide it. Not from someone he was spending so much time with, anyway. And he’d been grateful that Stiles seemed to understand, explaining about his own panic attacks. They had different _types_ of anxiety, and they definitely responded to their anxieties in very different ways, but that was okay. As long as they respected each other’s methods of coping, Derek figured it was just fine that they dealt with things in their own ways.

He had never _dreamed_ Stiles would do something like this. That the other man might go out of his way to better understand Derek. To work _with_ Derek’s issues, rather than fighting _against_ them. It was its own special kind of miraculous, and it only made Derek love him more. Part of him worried about being worthy of Stiles’ dedication, because Derek had no idea how he was supposed to repay something like that. He didn’t even know where to _start._

Derek did his best to squash that cruel little voice in his head, rather than listening to it, because he _knew_ it was just his anxiety rearing its ugly head. So he told the little voice to shut up as he crossed his parents’ yard. Laura was smirking at him, eyes twinkling with laughter, but Derek ignored her. He reached Stiles’ side and immediately kissed him. It was brief, but Derek poured every drop of love he had into it and when he drew back, Stiles’ eyes had gone blurry.

“I love you.” He told Stiles, because it was the only thing he could think to offer. He wasn’t sure it was equal to what Stiles was giving to _him,_ but it was what Derek had and he gave it freely, hoping it would be enough. “More than anything, Stiles, I love you.”

Stiles blinked rapidly for a moment, until his amber eyes focused on Derek’s face, then he smiled in that way he had that made Derek feel like he was the only person in the world who mattered to Stiles in that moment. “Love you, too.” Stiles replied, leaning in to steal another kiss, this one soft and sweet. “Is everything okay?”

Derek nodded, then let himself settle into Stiles’ side rather than answering with words. Stiles let out a questioning hum, but it was Laura who spoke before either of them could.

“He’s thanking you.” Laura told Stiles, her eyes soft now rather than laughing though a smile was still pulling at her lips. “I’m guessing Cora told him what you were talking to me about. So he had to come and thank you, for loving him enough to think of something like that. For not thinking of him as broken or damaged, the way so many people would.”

Stiles turned his head enough to catch Derek’s eye and said firmly. “You’re not broken. _Different_ doesn’t equate _less._ I want to know you. _All_ of you. And if it takes a little extra work on my part to make it happen, I’m okay with that.”

There was a pause, then Stiles murmured. _“You_ are enough, Derek. Just you. I’ll never ask you to change, because I love you exactly the way you are.”

And Derek knew his cheeks were burning, but he didn’t care. Just like he didn’t care that there were tears stinging his eyes. The only people at this barbeque were family and close personal friends, and Derek didn’t give a rat’s ass if they saw him tearing up at Stiles’ words. All he cared about was making sure that Stiles knew - every single day - just how much Derek loved him. And as he leaned into Stiles’ side as Stiles went back to his conversation with Laura, Derek silently promised Stiles just that.

~*~*~*~

“He’s stopped insulting me.”

The words hung heavy in the air between Stiles and the women he was talking to. He felt uneasy having said them, as though he was complaining about a pleasant turn of events. He _wasn’t_ complaining, mind you, not even a little. He was just...confused. Yeah, _confused_ was a good way to put it. Because from the moment Derek had first said _I love you_ to Stiles, he’d stopped making snide comments and snarky remarks about Stiles’ driving, both in general _and_ as it pertained to HaleStorm. And it wasn’t that he missed the nastiness, because he _didn’t,_ obviously. He just wasn’t sure what had prompted the swift and sudden change in behavior.

Because of that - because he didn’t understand what had caused Derek to stop - he wasn’t at all certain he could trust the change.

“And heaven forbid your boyfriend isn’t calling you names?” Allison asked, sounded utterly bemused as she gave Stiles an odd look. “Pretty sure that’s a sign of progress, sweetie. He’s obviously working through his feelings about HaleStorm having another driver. You should be proud of him.”

“What she said.” Erica said, jerking her head towards Allison as she speared a cheese-slathered french fry with her fork. “Derek’s kind of an emotional mess, so he’s not going to talk shit out with you, but if he’s stopped the bitching then he’s trying to get out of his own way. Be grateful and move on.”

Stiles watched her bite into the fry, then mumbled. “What if he ‘s _not,_ though?”

Erica and Allison exchanged looks, then Erica stabbed another fry. “Yeah, I’m not touching that one, Ali, so it’s _all_ you.”

“I’m going to have to ask what you mean.” Allison said, steepling her fingers in front of her face and resting her index fingers against her mouth for a moment as she studied Stiles over them. 

Stiles shrugged one shoulder, his fork chasing a ball of quinoa - from the really delicious quinoa salad the diner had provided with their meals - around the little dish. “I just...I mean, he stopped right after the accident where my harness jammed. When he said he loved me for the first time. And I can’t help wondering if-”

Stiles cut himself off, not sure he was willing to give voice to his own fears.

“If _what?”_ Erica asked, utterly exasperated. “Like, what is your major malfunction, Stilinski? I’m not seeing an issue with ‘ _the guy I’m boning has stopped insulting me.’_ That’s the kind of thing most people would be happy about.”

“What if he’s still _thinking_ it?” Stiles finally asked, the words barely more than breath, because some irrational part of Stiles’ brain said if he spoke them any louder they would become true. “Wh-what if he’s not saying it because we’ve said I love you, but he still feels that way? Like I’m an interloper and not good enough and all that. I don’t...I think I’d rather he was saying it, if that’s the case. I’d rather _know_ because we haven’t even _talked_ about it.”

Stiles let his fork drop to the plate with a faint clatter, resting his elbows on the edge of the table and resting his head on his hands, long fingers half-fisted in his hair as he gave Allison and Erica a desperate, bleary-eyed look. He hadn't been sleeping well lately, as the longer he worried about this the harder it was to ignore. “I don’t want him to pretend he’s okay with this - with me driving HaleStorm - if he’s not, just because we’re together. And yes, it fucking _sucked_ when he was saying shitty things all the time, but I hate that I can’t stop wondering if he still feels that way and just doesn’t think he can admit it.”

“Then you need to talk to him.” Allison said, in that matter-of-fact way Stiles had learned she used when dispensing advice. As though it were simple and little more than common sense, and she didn’t see why the person she was talking to hadn't reached that conclusion on their own. “Get everything out in the open, whichever way it winds up being.”

Stiles scoffed, lifting his head enough to glare at her. “I am _not_ bringing it up. What if he’s _not_ thinking it anymore and I put that shit back in his head?”

“You’re insane.” Erica told him, pointing at him with a cheesy fry pinned on a fork. “If you’re not going to talk to him about it, why’d you even bring it up?”

Stiles felt himself blushing and he lowered his eyes as he admitted quietly. “I was...kind of hoping maybe one of you would, like...investigate for me? Just...try to discreetly see if he still thinks I’m not worthy of driving his dad’s truck or whatever.”

Allison and Erica both made sounds of protest, so Stiles gave them both a wide-eyed, pleading look that he _knew_ was effective from years of practice. “Please?” He asked, letting his desperation bleed into his tone as he looked between them. “I want this to work, _so_ badly. I just...I need to know. Whichever way it winds up being I _need_ to know, so I can handle it.”

There was a moment of tense silence, then Allison and Erica both sighed. “Fine.” Erica snapped, shooting him an annoyed look as she ate another fry. “But don’t think for _one second_ that I’m happy about being asked to spy on one of my best friends.”

“Same.” Allison murmured, looking uncomfortable. “Honestly, Stiles, I wish you’d just ask him yourself, rather than having us do it.”

“I can’t.” Stiles repeated, because it was the only truth he had, honestly. Thankfully both of them gave nods of acceptance, and Stiles let the matter rest. _For now._

~*~*~*~

Erica had to admit, she had something of a soft-spot for Derek Hale. While not a legacy driver herself, she’d been driving since she was still a teenager. She’d upgraded from crushing cars at county and state fairs to driving for Silver Entertainment as soon as she’d graduated from high school. She’d known Derek for over two years now, and she loves him like the brother she never had. So when Stiles asked her and Allison to do him this favor, she’d told Allison not to sweat it because she could handle it on her own. And Allison - who had no desire whatsoever to put herself in the middle of _anyone’s_ relationship drama - was content to leave it in Erica’s hands.

So Erica found herself sitting across from Derek for lunch the next time they had a show together, which wasn’t too long, all things considered. Sometimes they’d go a month or more without crossing paths on the circuit, but that was the life and they all knew it. They kept in touch with calls and texts and video chats, because that was the only way to stay close when your life was a road-based one. But it had only been two weeks since Stiles had begged her to help, so Erica figured she wasn’t doing too badly in terms of scheduling.

“I’ve missed you.” Derek offered softly once their food had arrived.

Erica grinned at him, tossing her blonde curls over her shoulders as she smirked at him with red-slicked lips. “Of course you did, Der-bear. I’m endearing and loveable, after all.”

“You’re a pain in the ass.” Derek replied, but he was smiling fondly at her as he said it. When Erica pouted, he added. “But you _are_ loveable.”

“You bet your sweet ass I am.” Erica popped a piece of her nigiri sushi in her mouth. It was hamachi, which was one of her favorites and she chewed and swallowed blissfully before continuing. “And I’m going to prove it by doing you a _huge_ favor.”

“Oh?” Derek asked, raising one of his delightfully impressive eyebrows as he added a large piece of pickled ginger to a slice of his California roll before putting it in his mouth.

“Mhmmm.” Erica agreed, already chewing a piece of ika, because the hell if she was going to be put off her lunch by this conversation. Especially not when she’d had to beg and whine to get Derek to agree to sushi in the first place.

Still, when she’d swallowed and taken a sip of her drink, she explained. “Your boyfriend is tripping balls and you need to do something about it. Poor guy needs some _major_ reassurance, seriously.”

“Reassurance.” Derek said, flat in the way that told Erica he was freaking out. “About what.”

And Erica, knowing her job as one of his absolute best friends, didn’t hesitate. She just filled Derek in on what Stiles had said to her and Allison. She knew Derek, after all, and she had no doubt that this whole mess could be rather easily cleaned up if all parties were just _talking about it._ And the most efficient way to make that happen was to tell Derek everything. So Erica did. She didn’t feel the slightest bit guilty over it either, because Stiles had never made her promise not to tell Derek his concerns. Plus, she had a feeling Stiles wouldn’t care _how_ she’d gone about things, provided the outcome was favorable.

~*~*~*~

The Monster Slam World Finals were _kind of_ a big deal. Especially when records were being set. Stiles knew Derek had competed before, and he’d placed first in Freestyle while driving HaleStorm. Dominic had as well, of course, but that was expected. Hell, one time, Dominic had won both the Racing and the Freestyle finals in the same year. Laura had won a Racing title in HaleStorm as well. Peter had won in both categories as well while driving Halestrom, albeit in different years. Derek had competed with Prince-of-Hale the previous year, but he hadn't won. This year...

This year was different.

Because Stiles had taken first place in the Racing final...and Derek had come in second. Then Derek had taken first place in the Freestyle final...and _Stiles_ had come in second. And their scores lined up in such a way, between the two events, that they had _tied_ for the overall World Final title. And that had _never_ happened before, though there had been a tie for the Freestyle Final in the past.

As it was, Stiles was still kind of in shock as he and Derek stood side-by-side on the staging platform, accepting their joint title. He was smiling - it was halfway his default expression anyway, and he _was_ happy under all the shock - but he was really hoping Derek was up for fielding any questions Kira and Finstock might ask because he wasn’t sure he was up to forming words just yet.

Except that when Kira spoke, it was to _him._ “It’s your debut season, Stiles, and you’re standing here with a Racing Final champion title and sharing the overall World Final title with Derek Hale. I have to ask how that feels for you.”

“I...don’t know.” Stiles admitted, his mouth moving before his brain had a chance to give any input. When Kira’s eyes widened in surprise, Stiles laughed, feeling a little steadier. “Sorry, I just...I think I’m still pretty much in shock. This is the biggest dream come true, honestly. Just being a part of the World Finals was more than I’d hoped for in my debut season. Winning? I can’t...it doesn’t even feel _real_ yet. Once it all sinks in, I’ll be walking on air, I’m sure. For now it’s just kind of unbelievable.”

“I think that’s a fair reaction.” Kira laughed, the crowd cheering loudly. “You’ve set some major records today, Stiles, and I’m sure that Monster Slam fans are going to be chomping at the bit to see what you have in store for them in the future. I know _I_ am!”

“And speaking of surprises.” Finstock piped up, turning the attention to Derek. “I know absolutely no one is surprised you’ve got another World Final title under your belt, Derek. It goes with the territory of being a Hale, after all, though it’s got to feel good taking it while driving _your_ truck.”

Before Derek could say anything, Finstock continued. “I’m actually more interested in how you feel about sharing a title with Stiles here, given all of the fan-drama and your personal stake in the matter and whatnot.”

Stiles tensed, wondering what the hell was going to happen now. Wondering what Derek was going to say to that. Would it be some trite, rote, pre-rehearsed answer regarding the supposed rivalry between them, which the fans had taken to some extreme levels in online forums? Not even Derek and Stiles’ relationship had done anything to quell the rising fan-based tensions. And honestly, Stiles had no idea what to expect, his heart in his throat as he turned his head to look at Derek.

~*~*~*~

Derek took a deep breath. He had planned on doing this no matter what, and the situation with them tying for the overall title honestly just made it more perfect. So he clamped down on his anxiety and reached for the words he’d rehearsed several dozen times over the last month. Ever since Erica had told him about Stiles’ fears of still being inadequate in Derek’s eyes.

“So I know there’s been a lot of speculation regarding my feelings on Stiles driving HaleStorm.” Derek smiled at the camera because it was expected, though his stomach was rolling with nausea because of all the ways this could go wrong. “And I know I’m partly to blame for that, because I wasn’t exactly discreet about my feelings during Stiles’ first show. I was angry, and a little jealous, and not quite equipped to handle someone who _wasn’t_ family driving my dad’s truck.”

Stiles had gone rigid beside him, his smile frozen on his face and looking oddly unnatural, but Derek pressed on because it was all he _could_ do. “I’d hoped that when our relationship became public, everyone would realize that I’d accepted Stiles. That he’d more than proven himself as an amazing driver. I wanted the fans to embrace him as HaleStorm’s primary driver, the way my family had. The way _I_ had. But it seems there’s still some fans out there who don’t think he belongs behind HaleStorm’s wheel, because he’s not a Hale. I’d like to put that issue to rest today.”

“Derek...” Stiles breathed, his mic picking up the anxious tone clearly. “I don’t think we need to talk about this, really. The fans are entitled to their opinions. All _I_ can do is drive my best.”

Derek turned to look at Stiles and all of the nerves seemed to smooth out. The rolling in his stomach stopped and the smile on his lips slid into a more natural form. “I _want_ to put the issue to rest.” He stressed, eyes locked on Stiles’ gilt-and-amber ones as he continued. “Considering the results of this year’s World Final, there’s no one who can deny that you’re amazing behind the wheel, and that any team you choose to drive for is lucky to have you.”

He watched moisture sheen those brilliant eyes as Stiles’ plush mouth parted, no doubt to interrupt, but Derek didn’t give him a chance. “The thing is, Stiles, a Hale has _always_ driven HaleStorm, right from the start. And there’s always going to be people who think it should stay that way, no matter how good of a driver you are.”

Stiles bit that full lower lip, some of those tears beading on his lashes. “I can’t do anything about that, Derek.” Stiles whispered, which was kind of pointless considering the microphone piping his words through the stadium’s speakers. “I can’t fix that.”

“No, you can’t.” Derek agreed, sliding one hand into his pocket as he dropped down to one knee in front of Stiles. “But _I_ can.”

There was a collective gasp - from the audience, from Kira and Finstock, from _Stiles_ \- as Derek pulled out the ring box and popped open the lid, the camera immediately zooming in on the slender platinum band set with a single round diamond that was flanked by a small, rectangle-cut smoky topaz on either side. He met Stiles’ eyes again, ignoring the way the camera had zoomed back out, the large stadium screen filled with the image of him and Stiles.

“I love you, Stiles Stilinski, and I know you love me. I want to spend the rest of my life with you beside me.” Derek flashed his dimples at Stiles. “So if you’ll do me the honor of saying yes, I promise I’ll make you a Hale just as soon as I can.”

Stiles’ hand came up to cover his mouth and he let out a soft sob, but he was already nodding. As he lowered his hand - holding it out to Derek, who quickly slid the ring on the correct finger - Stiles answered him in a voice that was just a little damp around the edges. “Yes. Christ, Der, yes. _Yes,_ I’ll marry you.”

Derek stood just in time for Stiles to fling himself into Derek’s arms, clinging to him tightly. And he couldn't help laughing when Stiles’ mic picked up him mumbling. “But I’m _not_ changing my name, so the fans will just have to deal with it.”

Derek knew, in a distant sort of way, that Kira and Finstock were talking to the camera now. Making noise about _full circle_ as they brought up his dad’s proposal to his mom all those years ago, and talking about the romance of the whole thing. Derek didn’t care, though, because Stiles had said yes. Stiles was _his._ And honestly, nothing - not even a World Finals champion title - could hold a candle to that fact.

~*~*~*~

Stiles and Derek were married before the start of the next Monster Slam season. Erica insisted on being Derek’s _Best Woman,_ since she’d given him the push he’d needed to propose. Allison, Cora, and Laura were all _groomsmaids._ Dominic, Isaac, and Boyd were groomsmen, while Stiles’ Best Man was his best friend Scott. And he had to admit, the way Scott and Allison seemed to hit it off _right away_ made Stiles feel a little annoyed he hadn't thought to introduce them sooner. Stiles asked his dad to give him away, despite the fact that it was a little outdated as far as traditions went and generally only applied to _brides,_ anyway. It had been just the two of them for more than half of Stiles’ life; it felt right.

There was press at the wedding, of course, but they were discreet. The service itself was small and intimate, but the party afterwards was wild and raucous and delightful.

And despite what he’d said the day Derek had proposed, the very next day Stiles went and filed the forms to legally change his name from Mścisław Stilinski to Stiles Hale.

Derek just smirked and kissed his husband, murmuring against his mouth. “I told you, love. A Hale drives HaleStorm. That’s just how it is.”

Stiles had to agree.

_**~ The End ~** _


End file.
